


Red and Gold

by Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)



Series: Vexation of Spirit [5]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), The Lone Gunmen (TV)
Genre: Admit Nothing; Pretend It's All Right, Anal Sex, Awkward Conversations, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Everybody knows, Love Confessions, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-04 12:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15841632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/pseuds/Ywain%20Penbrydd
Summary: Finally back at work, after nearly being shot in his apartment, Reid winds up on a case that pushes buttons he didn't know he had. Byers finds a connection between the case and something that turned out not to be his problem. Garcia brings up a very old, very personal problem for Byers. Langly has some difficulty juggling other people's problems, as things get weirder around him.





	1. Chapter 1

Monday hadn't been so bad, really, as Mondays went, even if waking up next to someone had put a bit of a delay into Reid's morning routine. Twice as much coffee, the distracting sight of someone else on his couch, the way the faint shadows from the curtains fell across Langly's face. Reid nearly poured coffee down the front of his shirt twice, just watching Langly check his messages and tap into some nearby cameras. The idea was that Langly would keep an eye on things, establish what normal looked like, so it would be obvious if something changed, and when he said it, Reid wondered how it had come to be that this was something he had to concern himself with. At what point had his life gone so far off the rails that his personal safety involved cameras and the routines of his neighbours? It would only be for a little while, he told himself. Just until his home felt like he belonged in it, again.  
  
When Langly kissed him goodbye, at the door, that morning, Reid nearly walked back in and called in sick. Just one more day without having to explain himself, without the reminder that what should have been a quiet bit of happiness in his life had somehow turned into a public spectacle. Just one more day of kisses and sunlight and Langly cursing about the technical incompetence of the neighbours, the city, and the shopkeeper down the block.  
  
Somehow, he finally made it to work. All morning, Reid managed to avoid answering most of the questions about how he'd spent the last week, finally letting on only that he'd left town to spend time with some friends. That had gotten him a bit of teasing -- JJ's mock surprise that he had friends that weren't in the room, Garcia's fingerquotes around the word 'friends' -- but as he continued to insist the most exciting thing he'd done all week was peer reviews, eventually it all died down. He was certain no one believed him, but at least they'd stopped _talking_ about it.  
  
It wasn't until Tuesday that things started to head south, figuratively and literally.  
  
Langly had gone home, Tuesday morning, when Reid left for work, having wanted to put a few miles on his new identity, maybe establish a good point of appearance closer to home. There were plans to meet up somewhere for dinner -- an actual date -- and they parted with a kiss that left a cabbie wolf-whistling. An excellent start to what might have been a good day.  
  
By nine that morning, all of Reid's plans were in the toilet. Four dead women in Tallahassee, all blonde, three of them confirmed competitive fighters. The fourth had just been found that morning, after they'd already accepted the case, but before it had been presented, and she hadn't yet been identified. Every one of them, the last included, had been found bruised as if from combat, but dead of a slashed throat. At each scene, a symbol was painted on the ground, in the victim's blood, but three of them were partially washed away and the preliminary photos of the last weren't quite clear enough to identify.  
  
Reid left a message for Langly from the elevator, having taken just long enough in the bathroom to wind up alone. One didn't make calls from public bathrooms, Reid had learned. They were too heavy traffic. Great places for ditching the people who might be listening, though.  
  
"Sorry. I'm not going to make it home, tonight. I'll call when I get back. Maybe sooner. But, as soon as I'm back, I know this great Indian place. We'll go. I have to go do this. I'll call. I promise."

* * *

"Dammit." Langly tossed the phone on his desk, suddenly too distracted for what he'd been considering. Or at least too distracted to do it with the focus it deserved. He tipped his chair back and stared at the ceiling. It would only be a few days. Special Agent Superhero was going to go save some people, and _then_ they'd go out for dinner. And speaking of dinner, maybe he'd be able to focus if he bothered to eat, which he suddenly realised hadn't exactly been his top priority, that day.  
  
Byers came down from the control room, the sound of his feet on the ladder heralding his approach. He appeared in the top of Langly's vision, as he came up to the desk, clearly having spent a good long time considering _something_ before deciding to bring it to Langly's attention. "Do you have any idea why Penelope insists I'm married?"  
  
Langly knew exactly why, but the first words out of his mouth were, "Ex _cuse_ me? You're _what_?"  
  
"That's about what I said. I must have looked so confused, because she finally accepted that I had no idea what she was talking about. But, that was so awkward. I mean, getting married. That's the kind of thing I'd remember doing. That's the kind of thing you'd remember me doing!" Byers put down a folding chair and sat. "I'm almost afraid to look. Maybe it's just someone with the same name... She thought it might be a case of identity theft, not that I'm sure why someone would want to be me. Especially now that I'm dead."  
  
"You want me to look?" Langly asked, shooting Byers a concerned look.  
  
"Kind of, yeah. I could do it myself, but..." Byers looked ill and remarkably like he'd rather be anywhere but having this conversation.  
  
"Don't throw up, Byers. That's my job." Langly pulled his feet back, and the chair rocked forward. This was not something he wanted to do, because he knew what was on the far end of this one. Byers would flip. He'd been hoping this moment wouldn't come.

* * *

On the ground, in Florida, Reid and Rossi went to examine that morning's scene, while the rest of the team split between settling in with the locals and catching up at the morgue. Reid had volunteered for it, saying something about fresh air, and the concept of fresh air in the vicinity of a corpse had gotten him some strange looks and a collective decision not to ask, for which he was grateful. If he was entirely honest with himself, though, the level of decomposition in a corpse less than a day old would be nothing compared to what Garcia had carried out of his kitchen, that weekend.  
  
Someone had probably made the identification, while they were in the air, but that information hadn't come to them, yet. All he knew was that it was another blonde woman, probably in her late twenties or early thirties, found in an alley, by the rear door of a martial arts studio, which suggested a similar hobby to the first three victims. The basic victimology was relatively blatant, but this early, the meaning was still opaque.  
  
Rossi had fallen a bit behind, stopping to review the scene with the officers guarding it, while Reid cautiously approached where the corpse lay, studying the angles, the features of the alley, taking in an impression of the space, before he turned his eyes to the body, still far enough back not to disturb the marks by the sneakered feet. The body lay mostly prone, head turned to the side, one arm reaching toward something, but with an empty hand. He took in the jeans, the back of a t-shirt he'd seen a lot of in the last week, the lank, slightly wavy hair... and his stomach dropped so hard it felt like the impact might break his hips.  
  
The face was nearly unrecognisable, but at the angle he stood at, the resemblance to a particular photograph he now wished he hadn't seen was uncanny, and he wondered if that was true or if his mind was exaggerating in the wake of recent extremely unusual circumstances. He also wondered if being sure of that would actually help. Langly's phone was in his hand, before he could second-guess himself. Not a call. He didn't have time for a call. Just a message. He turned to hide the phone as he raised it to his ear, pretending to study the side of the building, the depth of the doorway. Three words, he thought. 'Please call me.'  
  
He shouldn't have come without seeing the crime scene photos, first. He shouldn't have walked into this, specifically this, so soon. Distracted by his own thoughts, he heard the correct number of syllables leave his mouth, without registering them as words. The phone dropped into his sleeve and he tucked his hair behind his ear, as Rossi came up on him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I know what you're seeing, kid, but that's not what's there." Rossi spoke quietly, positioning himself as if he were just passing on what the officers had told him, which, after a moment's silence from Reid, he did. "Lida Duvall, thirty-two, an instructor at this dojo. They think someone grabbed her when she came out the door."  
  
"What I'm _seeing_ is that she wasn't coming out the door, she was going in." Reid swept aside any concern about his well-being by simply ignoring it. It wouldn't work for long, with Rossi, but if it worked even once, hopefully that would be enough. He'd been surprised, that was all. And he wouldn't be, again.  
  
"She'd already finished teaching the last class of the night. Her car's in the lot we just came through." Rossi stepped back to get a better idea of what Reid was looking at. "Why?"  
  
"She's not carrying anything. Normally, if you're leaving somewhere, you take your belongings with you. There's no bag, here, and nothing that looks like it might have fallen out of one. Those are women's jeans, so she's not carrying a cel phone, unless someone already collected it as evidence. There'd be nowhere to put it, other than the back pockets, where it's not. Keys might be in her front pocket, but they weren't in her hand, unless, again, someone already picked them up. We should check inside but I'm betting the door was unlocked because she was taking out the _garbage_ , before she went back in to get her bag, probably also containing her change of clothes, and then go home." Reid steeled himself before turning around to look at the body again. "Cause of death is the same as the others?"  
  
Rossi nodded. "Throat cut with a long blade, not enough damage to think it's a failed decapitation. The slice doesn't go far enough around."  
  
Reid tipped his head, spotting something else. "How long of a blade?"  
  
"Don't look at me. I'm not performing that sort of examination in this suit. The ME should have some estimates, from the other victims."  
  
Crouching, Reid gestured to a symbol painted in the concrete gutter that ran down the middle of the alley, next to the body. "I'm almost certain that's blood, I'm pretty sure that's a sword, and I'm absolutely sure I've seen that before, though I'm not sure where. It'll come back to me. On the blade a snake and around the flat, the serpent's tail. That's ... not quite it. There's a translation..." He stared blankly at the shape.  
  
"You'll think of it in the middle of the night and scare the hell out of JJ," Rossi joked, gesturing at the door. "And the assumption has been that someone took the keys, because the door _is_ unlocked. Inside's been tossed, like someone was looking for something. And it's interesting that you bring up swords, because I'm told we have the remains of what was once a beautiful display of them. All the blades were left behind, so I'd venture they didn't find what they were looking for."  
  
"If this is a sword, here, then it's not the Rod of Asclepius at the other scenes. We talked about how it didn't look right, but seeing it in situ, the lines are easier, clearer. And if there's a particular focus on swords in the dojo, then this is definitely a _sword_ and serpent." Reid stood up and headed for the door, intent on getting a better look at the actual swords, in the hopes the last piece would drop into place, in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make absolutely no guarantees about the update rate, here. Technically, I'm still in that month-transition slam, and the fact that a chapter currently exists is a minor act of god. Potentially a god of annoyance, because I didn't mean to be working on this at all, until I had some more actual work finished.


	2. Chapter 2

Langly did not want to be doing this. He didn't want to be having this conversation. He didn't want to be doing this dive with Byers looking over his shoulder. And he really didn't want to deal with what would inevitably follow. Maybe it was for the best that Reid was out of town.  
  
"Come on, you know it's slow. It has to be slow. It's always slow. I have to do them all individually, because fortunately for people who live like us, there's not an official federal clearinghouse for this kind of thing. It's state level if you're lucky, and once you get into farm country, good fucking luck. If it's there, I'll hit it." He didn't want to have this conversation, so he'd been avoiding the place he knew he could find the records he was looking for, having already done it once, and he could feel Frohike's pitying gaze from his other side. "Frohike, go get Byers a beer. Get him four beers, and maybe a hooker. He needs to relax and stop breathing down my neck. Literally. I don't need you breathing my air, Byers, we're not that close."  
  
Frohike got up and patted Byers's shoulder. "C'mon. Let Langly work. He knows what he's doing."  
  
As the two of them headed for the kitchen, Frohike nearly having to drag Byers away, Langly's phone blipped. Another message. A smile curled the corners of his lips as he reached for what was bound to be a distraction. As he played the message back, the smile vanished, and he punched the intercom button for the kitchen, as his stomach twisted sharply. "Byers? I'm taking a break. Something just happened, and I need to fix it _right now_."  
  
He missed the reply, turning on three more monitors, as he played the message back one more time, hearing the strain in Reid's voice.  
  
' _I love you._ '  
  
First question: where was Reid? That hadn't been part of the earlier message, and on some level, he'd expected that. Reid didn't talk much about cases that weren't immediately relevant to the subject at hand, and even then, the identifying details were usually missing. That was common with people in certain lines of work, Langly had noticed. They'd known a few doctors over the years who were the same way. But, now? Now, he had to know.  
  
It wasn't the hole Narcisse had exploited, but GPS records were much easier to get than text or call information, beyond basic metadata. That there _was_ a national clearinghouse for, and he was into it in seconds. Tallahassee, Florida -- a place Langly thought he could really do without seeing again. He could get down as far as the towers, and he followed the path Reid had taken. Or what was statistically likely to be that path, given the overlap in reception compared to a local street map. It wasn't particularly precise, but the overview could say quite a bit, provided he knew what he was looking for. Which he didn't, yet.  
  
Next, the case file. He hadn't wanted to look. It wasn't his concern -- just a serial killer. It wasn't weird enough for him to care -- Reid's forte, not his own. But, something had gone wrong, and comparing the timestamps, he could tell where. What he couldn't tell was _why_. The FBI wasn't the DoD, and he got into the network easily enough. And then things got interesting. This wasn't a closed case, so it wasn't where he'd been digging, the last few weeks. An open, active case that wasn't filed yet was going to be much more of a challenge, and one he dove into with both hands and his mind on nothing but the task.  
  
Apparently Reid and Terrifying Mafia Dad had been sent to check out a crime scene, around that time, and-- The red lights for the isolated line kicked on, and Langly realised he'd been caught. Fortunately, he'd been caught by the Black Queen, and he could probably talk his way out of this. He backed out of the system, erasing his trail as best he could and then pulled the laptop over.  
  
_Yeah, it's me._  
  
_Of course it's you, Ringo. Nobody else would be crazy enough to go after the file that's open on my desk. What are you doing in my files? You can't just screw around in open cases!_  
  
_Reid left me a message that I'm not going to repeat, here, but he didn't sound good and the content was... unnerving._  
  
_When?_  
  
Langly double-checked and provided the timestamp, down to the milliseconds.  
  
_At which point he was at a scene with Rossi._  
  
_I got that far. You know where he is, now? He's where he's supposed to be?_  
  
_Someone would've called me, if he wasn't. What are you_  
  
_I just had to make sure he hadn't been tossed in a trunk and driven into the swamp. It was that kind of message._  
  
There was no response for a few minutes.  
  
_Oh. I think I know what happened. Yikes. If this is what he was looking at... Hang on. I'll send you a file, but you listen to me Ringo. This goes nowhere. You look at this and then you dispose of it properly. Double wipe. If this sees print, I will make your life a living hell._  
  
_Serial killers aren't my thing. Unless we're talking aliens, Elvis, or criminal conspiracies, I don't actually care._  
  
_You'll care in a minute. Sit down before you open that._  
  
The image filled the screen, and memories flashed through Langly's head. The floor. The concrete floor. A lifetime of regrets. Blood. Vomit. People talking. The photos, later, that went into the official file. He kicked his chair back and grabbed the desk bin in one hand and his hair in the other, glasses falling into it as he revisited breakfast. It wasn't nearly as good, the second time. He ran his fingers under the monitors until he hit the switches for the intercom, counting until he got to the right one.  
  
"Somebody grab me a roll of paper towels and some water?"  
  
He must've sounded pretty bad, because Byers and Frohike both showed up, as he was still tapping the barf off the lenses as best he could.  
  
"What the hell happened to you?" Frohike asked, offering the paper towels.  
  
"Crime scene photo." Langly was trying not to think about it.  
  
"It usually takes an actual corpse to set you off," Byers pointed out, carefully setting a glass of water on the desk.  
  
"Sit down before you look at that." Langly pointed down the desk to the laptop, as he dropped his glasses into the water and swirled them, drying them on the paper towels.  
  
Frohike scoffed and eased between Langly's chair and the railing, tipping the laptop screen up to see what was on it. A long pause followed, in which he tried to remember how to breathe. "Oh, shit."  
  
"Yeah, 'oh shit'." Langly put his glasses back on, made a frustrated sound, and took them back off to wipe them again, this time on his shirt. "I can't see a goddamn thing. Tell Her Majesty I'll be right back."  
  
Garcia's last message waited in another window, and Frohike found it easily.  
  
_You all right over there? Kinda quiet, Ringo..._  
  
_Ringo just threw up on his glasses. Give him a minute._  
  
Byers nudged Langly's chair toward the desk and dodged around it. "What kind of 'oh shit'?"  
  
Frohike brought the photo back up and turned the laptop.  
  
"Oh, shit," Byers agreed, suddenly pale, one hand clutching the railing for balance as the world spun out from under him. "Okay, the fact that looks like Langly aside, haven't we seen this before?"  
  
"Wait, what?" Langly tried his glasses again.  
  
"Two or three years ago? Georgia? Alabama? Everyone thought it was satanic, because of the blondes and the snakes?" Byers looked at Langly and then at Frohike, hoping for recognition.  
  
"The one we didn't print, because we couldn't find anything weird about it, besides it obviously being a serial, and the locals couldn't get their heads out of their asses about it being a satanic cult?" Langly pulled the impromptu barf bucket from between his knees and set it back on the floor, further from his face. "Yeah, that was Alabama. But, like... five years ago or something."  
  
"You want me to pull it?" Byers asked, edging back around Langly's chair to pull the bag out of the bin and tie it, before the smell went any further.  
  
"I'll tell the Queen it's coming." Langly grabbed the desk and pulled himself back toward the laptop, as Frohike stepped back.  
  
"Uh-uh." Frohike shook his head at Byers. "You're already holding the barf bag. I'll pull the files. You ... do something with that."

* * *

Garcia unpacked the archive she'd been sent, skimming the introductory material quickly. Sent to Vexation of Spirit by a young man who was upset about the death of his sister and convinced some kind of death cult had sacrificed her in pursuit of eternal life. The letter was heavy with white supremacist jargon, but the writer had obviously cared about his sister and was offended the police weren't taking her murder more seriously. Behind that, the initial assessment Fitz had done -- nine women, all similar in appearance, had been killed in about three months. While they didn't share professions or hobbies, they were all involved in things that had involved strength and endurance. Given the method of killing and the signs left behind, Fitz was pretty sure it was a serial killer, though why the killer had stopped at nine women, he wasn't sure. There was a note that an anonymous tip had been passed on to the FBI, at the time, because 'the local police are too busy looking for devil worship orgies'. The case hadn't been picked up, due to the lack of an invitation from the local police. The rest of the folder contained what appeared to be complete records of the investigation.  
  
Pulling out the crime scene photos, first, she compared them to the current case. The women appeared to have been moved after death, dumped in Talladega National Forest, rather than left where they'd fallen. They'd been found much more slowly than the current victims and the time difference showed in the photos.  
  
This was her least favourite part of any case -- confronting the images of death, the reality of people who'd once led full lives but were discarded like garbage. And really, discarded like garbage was one of the ends that struck her less hard. There were so many worse things she'd seen.  
  
Still, here, as she consulted the reports -- the photographs weren't much help, with decomposition as bad as it had gotten -- the similarities stood out. Defensive wounds, damage to the bones consistent with blunt trauma, and sliced throats. There were no symbols recovered, but if they'd been painted in blood somewhere in the forest, they'd have washed away long before the bodies were found. The earliest three, though, had been found with dead snakes wrapped around their necks, for something Garcia hadn't really wanted to know, and was probably going to have disgusting nightmares about.  
  
Why nine? Fitz hadn't been sure, then, and she wasn't sure now. But, this was almost definitely the same killer, or someone who knew them. The similarities were a little too much to be coincidence. She tapped the phone and called Prentiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for EarlGreyer... *coughcough*


	3. Chapter 3

By the end of the day, the team had more than when they'd started, but not enough to have a grip on much past victimology. The addition of nine more murders in Alabama had added more pieces to the puzzle, but the question was what those pieces could tell them about the killer. Garcia was checking the surrounding states for similar cases that hadn't come to their attention. The killer had obviously chosen his victims according to their appearance and perceived strength, and the thought, until Garcia had delivered the Alabama cases, was that the trigger had been some sort of humiliating defeat in a martial arts competition. Records of legal fights for the three years before the killings started didn't bring up any defeats that really popped. None of the losers had lost poorly enough that this seemed likely. Most of them were still fighting, which made it less likely they'd be acting out, like this.  
  
Lewis had suggested a quest for the perfect bride -- a warrior woman who could defeat the unsub in combat -- but Reid was still hung up on the sword and serpent.  
  
"It's either Norse or Germanic," he argued. "This is a classic representation of Odin -- serpent on a sword."  
  
"That or it's St Patrick," Alvez pointed out.  
  
"Or we go back to the original assessment, and it's a symbol of the devil." Lewis shrugged. "I don't think we have enough to give that meaning, yet."  
  
"I will find it." Reid's eyes flashed. "I know what this is. _Exactly_ this."  
  
"Spence? You all right?" JJ finally asked, putting voice to what none of them had said all day. Reid hadn't looked so good, since he and Rossi had come back from the scene -- a bit green and a lot of sharp edges.  
  
"What?" Reid blinked, looking at himself and then turning a faintly indignant look on JJ. "I need a cup of coffee and a dark room, and I'll remember what this is, and then yeah, I'll be _great_."  
  
Lewis raised an eyebrow at Prentiss.  
  
"JJ, take him back to the hotel." Prentiss tossed the car keys to JJ. "Do it, Reid. If you think it's going to help, do it." What wasn't going to help was Reid decompensating in front of the locals.  
  
Reid knew he was being dismissed, but he bit his tongue and nodded curtly at Prentiss. "Thank you. I will."  
  
JJ tried to ask, in the car, but Reid wasn't having it. "Did we take you into the field too soon, Spence? You have so much vacation piled up -- if you want another week, you can have it. Nobody's going to say anything."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about. I just had a week off. I'm fine." Reid looked out the window, watching storefronts go by. "And if I can't think of this off the top of my head, the last thing I need is more time off."  
  
"You've been through some serious shit, this last week, Spence. I'm pretty sure your plans for the other night didn't include being found naked with your secret boyfriend."  
  
"Are we talking about that? Because I'm pretty sure we're not talking about that."  
  
"Look, you know we all give you a hard time because we love you, but if anything's still wrong, you have to tell us, so we can help. _Anything_." JJ glanced away from the road just long enough to determine that Reid was rather intently not looking at her.  
  
"You know I can take care of myself, right?" Dismissive, he thought, but maybe not as dismissive as he meant.  
  
"You know we'd do the same thing for Rossi, right? We did the same for Hotch, for Morgan -- you have done so much even for _me_. We're your friends, and we're worried about you."  
  
"I've had a week off and it was about six days too many," Reid insisted, still looking out the window as JJ pulled into the parking lot of a cheery-looking mid-century motel. "I'll be fine as soon as I can get my brain to turn back on. I'm just going to get some coffee and sit down. I'll call as soon as I figure out what it is." He got out of the car as soon as it stopped, slamming the car door.  
  
"Reid!"  
  
He turned back to find JJ dangling the room key, which hung on a tag stamped with the room number. After a moment, it occurred to him that he hadn't actually been here, yet. Squeezing the bridge of his nose, he reached out and took the key. "Thank you."  
  
"If anybody asks, I'm telling them you had a migraine. You can tell them whatever you want, later. Take care of yourself, and call me if you need anything. I'm going to be at the station all day, so you're not going to be pulling me away from anything."  
  
"Thank you," Reid said again, and JJ finally drove off, leaving him standing in the parking lot.

* * *

The first call was the more important one, and he made it while still closing the drapes. The room wouldn't be dark, but that was fine, he'd never liked the dark. Dim was enough. Diffuse sunlight was an improvement over a pounding fluorescent glare, any day of the week. He leaned against the wall, eyes closed, as he waited for something to pick up -- secretary, teaching assistant, voicemail. Hopefully, she still had the same number.  
  
"Professor Brownley, please," he said to the voice on the other end.  
  
A long pause followed. "Spencer? Is that you?"  
  
"Have I called you from this number, before?"  
  
"I'd know your voice anywhere! How are you?"  
  
Reid cleared his throat. "You know how it's said that hobbits don't like adventures? Neither do I."  
  
Brownley laughed. "You never did. It's why I was always so surprised you went with the FBI instead of coming back to teach. What can I do for you?"  
  
"I forgot something, if you can believe it. And I think you'll know what it is, because you have always been --" Reid paused. "It's your field, not mine."  
  
"Everything was your field. And forgetting things? Time to cash out that pool with Montoya and Connolly. I think Montoya wins that one. I figured you had another ten years in you."  
  
"Kylie." The eye-roll came through in Reid's voice.  
  
"All right, all right. Give me what you've got." The sound of a lighter flicking followed.  
  
"I know it's something from the Edda. Sword and serpent --"  
  
"Odin."  
  
"Obviously. But, there's a particular mention of one specific sword, and I can't think of enough of the words to identify it. Something about 'on the blade a snake, and round the flat the serpent's tail'?"  
  
"On the blade there lies a blood-flecked snake, and a serpent's tail round the flat is twisted? Helgakviða Hjörvarðssonar, verses eight and nine." Brownley took a long drag, plainly audible. "What are you working on, that Helgi Hjörvarðsson is suddenly important? You're not writing another article, are you? Coming back to us in the academic trenches?"  
  
"I've been writing articles this whole time; they're just not in journals you read. Far fewer legendary warriors than modern murderers, I'm afraid. Thanks, Kylie. I owe you." This time, Reid sounded like he meant it.  
  
"Then pay me back with dinner the next time you're on my side of the river. You can tell me what kind of murderer likes poems about valkyries." Brownley laughed. "And then you can try to explain to me why you're still not married, after the second glass of wine."  
  
"You should know I've just about stopped drinking, just so I'll never do that again." Reid's laugh was far more embarrassed. "I have to go, but I'll give you a call, when I'm in town. And I'll send you a newspaper once this case is over."  
  
The next call went to Prentiss.  
  
"The sword is from a medieval poem called the Helgakviða Hjörvarðssonar. It's the adventures of a prince who marries a valkyrie, steals a legendary sword, and at his death is resurrected, along with his wife. If we're just looking at the part with the sword, though, it's described as the 'shield-destroyer' and being filled with 'fear for its owner's foes'." Reid took a breath, finally able to see the page in his head, and quoted the two verses Brownley had pointed out. "'Swords I know lying in Sigarsholm, fifty there are save only four; one there is that is best of all, the shield-destroyer, with gold it shines. In the hilt is fame, in the haft is courage, in the point is fear, for its owner's foes; on the blade there lies a blood-flecked snake, and a serpent's tail round the flat is twisted.' Just before that, the protagonist, Helgi, meets his future wife, the valkyrie who gives him his name. And she's travelling in a group of nine valkyries. Later, she appears at the head of thrice nine."  
  
"Talladega's nine victims." Prentiss picked it up immediately.  
  
"They're all women of an appearance that suits popular culture's depiction of valkyries, and at least the recent cases seem to be actual fighters."  
  
"And you and Rossi mentioned the swords in the dojo, earlier. So... what, the unsub's trying to find this legendary sword, and killing valkyries to get it? That seems a little crazier than usual."  
  
"We're still missing a trigger," Reid pointed out. "We don't know _why_."  
  
"You going to be back on your feet soon?"  
  
Reid remembered what JJ had said she'd tell everyone. "I'll be fine in a few hours. Call me if you need something."  
  
As he hung up the phone, a fistful of memories scattered behind his eyes -- every other time he'd tried to hide something from a bunch of profilers. And how exactly none of those things ended well. But, he wasn't hiding anything, this time. Not really. Everyone knew something, it was just that no one knew everything. And most of them knew the same things. Himself included, unfortunately.   
  
He knew he should be with the rest of the team, but he'd done this to himself. Pride, if he was honest, which he probably wasn't going to be for a very long time. He knew himself that well. Snapping at Prentiss hadn't been smart. Offering to leave and call in the answer had been even stupider. Why hadn't he just stepped out of the room and called Kylie?  
  
Because he needed to call Langly, and that wasn't going to happen anywhere he could be overheard. He switched phones and spotted the message light.  
  
' _Hey, give me a call, when you get this. Not just a message._ '  
  
He'd meant to do that anyway, but Langly didn't sound nearly as casual as he was obviously trying to. The Alabama connection had probably come from him, Reid realised. Garcia had mentioned receiving a tip about them and implied it was the brother of one of the original victims, but if Langly sounded like that, the tip had probably come out of Vexation's slush file.  
  
Reid checked the signal and called.  
  
"Well, hello, Special Agent Sexy! What can Lord Manhammer do for you today?" Langly sounded like he was speaking to Reid but for someone else's benefit.  
  
"You left a message." Reid kept it short. And awkward. That was not at all the greeting he'd been expecting, but the squeak of chairs in the background suggested Frohike and Byers leaving the room.  
  
"Yeah, you left me a message, too. Scared the shit out of me. You want to tell me about that?"  
  
Reid could hear Langly sit up, the chair squeaking, his feet hitting the floor. "I asked you to call me. I just needed to know you were alive."  
  
"Yeah, that's... not actually what you said. 'Call me' was nowhere in the message you left." Langly paused, obviously debating how much to say. "I'll play it back for you, when you get home. Scared the _shit_ out of me."  
  
"What did I--"  
  
"No. First you get this asshole, then we talk about it." The sound of a long swallow of liquid followed. "I saw what you saw. I--"  
  
"You can't just do that! If there's any trace of you in the files, when this goes to court, there's going to be questions about the integrity of the evidence!" Reid tried to keep his voice down, pacing the small room in an attempt at sublimation.  
  
Langly's voice picked up in that way that suggested Byers could probably hear him from the kitchen. "I'm going to say it one more time, Reid: You _scared_ the _shit_ out of me. I went in to make sure you were where you were supposed to be, and not kidnapped or exposed to radioactive waste or something, because that is exactly the kind of shit that happens to people I like. The Queen gave me the photo from the scene. I wasn't looking for it. I probably wouldn't have looked. I don't like corpses. And I especially don't like corpses that look like me."  
  
"Neither do I," Reid said, quietly.  
  
"Yeah, I got that. Loud and clear." Langly huffed. "You got the Alabama file?"  
  
"Garcia called us. Nine women -- I'm still baffled how we didn't end up with it, in the first place. Even if it had turned out to be a satanic cult, which it's not, someone should have sent us that one." The bed squeaked as Reid stopped pacing and dropped onto the corner of it.  
  
"We sent it. Kept an eye on it for a year, just to see if anything had changed, locally, but..."  
  
"There's a whole lot of paperwork before we can actually get involved. I guess the locals didn't want us looking into it. Which is ... _ridiculous_." Reid pressed the heel of his hand into one eye. "And now it's going to bother me that we didn't get a chance to stop this in Alabama."  
  
"So, you stop it now. You can't save everyone. Trust me, I learned that the hard way. Doesn't mean you stop trying."  
  
"I know." Reid picked the next words carefully. "It's good to hear your voice."  
  
"Is that my cue to keep talking, or is that the prelude to you going back to work?"  
  
"I have some time," Reid admitted, guilt crawling up from his gut to wind around his heart. He should be working, but he'd talked himself into a corner where he had to take a couple hours off. "Any adventures getting home?"  
  
"No adventures until I got home. Her Majesty wants to know why ... Fitz didn't mention being married." Langly laughed, bitterly. "He still doesn't know Frohike and I knew before he did. He still doesn't know anything, really. I'm taking your call instead of working on that. For values of working where I completely ignore the end result I know is there, until I actually have to find it before things look suspicious."  
  
"Do you want me to talk to her, tonight?"  
  
Langly thought about it. The temptation to let Reid try to make it all go away was strong. "He's going to find out, eventually, no matter what. If I don't do it, he's going to do it himself." He sighed. "Let us tell her. There's no reason to let her know that you know any of this. She'll kill me."  
  
"She probably would, too," Reid agreed, after a moment. "I wish I--" The words were out before he could stop them, but he swallowed the rest of the sentence, and his annoyance with himself skipped across his face, played to an empty room.  
  
"I wish I was there with you," Langly said, into the silence.  
  
"No. I'm glad you're not. Once was enough. I don't need--" Reid stopped that sentence, too. "Maybe one day, I'd want that, but not this case." It was far less rude than 'I don't need the distraction while I'm working' or even 'I don't need the next corpse to be yours,' which had been his first thought.  
  
"Put your glasses on. I'm not that cute." Langly knew what had gone unsaid.  
  
"You said it yourself," Reid accused. "Corpses that look like you."  
  
"From the _back_ , maybe." Langly huffed, knowing damned well how deep that resemblance had gone on the last victim. "Maybe you should spend more time looking at my ass, so you'll recognise it."  
  
Reid chose to go with the joke, to get off the subject of the case he wasn't really supposed to be discussing with Langly. "I think I've spent more time squeezing than looking, and I can assure you I did not spend any time squeezing this murder victim's bottom."  
  
"There's a word, and it starts with 'n', and I'm not going to say it..." Langly sang. "Because I know you well enough that I'd only say that to your face, so you can deck me for it."  
  
"Implying it counts." Reid almost sounded amused. "And I'm not going to hit you. I would never. And I'm very bad at hitting people, anyway. It's the glasses I'm not wearing."  
  
"Have you really not found them, yet?"  
  
"You helped me clean the house. Did you see them? No? Neither did I." Reid groaned and leaned back across the bed. "I can't keep forgetting things like this."  
  
"Did you check the bottom of your bag?"  
  
"Which bag?"  
  
"Both of them, but the one you haven't been in for weeks, mostly."  
  
Sitting up, Reid grabbed his go bag, which had been left at the foot of the bed by whoever had checked them in. Probably Alvez. "There's not that much in here. I'd have noticed." He leaned forward and pulled his satchel from where he'd dropped it next to the television, when he came in. "And there's no way they're in here. I have this with me every day."  
  
Under two smashed granola bars and a book he'd forgotten to take out of his bag, his hand finally closed around the case.  
  
"Are you kidding me?"  
  
"Found them, didn't you." Langly sounded smug. "You should put them on, so you can punch this asshole's lights out, when you find him."  
  
"I thought maybe I'd just arrest him."  
  
"Just kick him in the junk once, for me. I'm pretty sure those women in Alabama deserve that much, even if I don't."  
  
"La-- _Frank_ , I can't just go around kicking people in the crotch! That's not how this works! ... Regardless of my own opinions on the matter." Reid held his glasses up and squinted at them, before wiping them with his shirt tail.  
  
"See! You thought it!"  
  
"Everyone thinks it, but I have a badge, and a responsibility to do the right thing," Reid argued, trying his glasses on before deciding they were going to need to be more seriously cleaned, if not replaced. He wasn't sure if that was a scratch.  
  
"Neutral good," Langly reminded him.  
  
"Acting in the service of law," Reid shot back, remembering all the times he'd questioned himself, later, and then defended his actions perfectly, regardless of whether he believed he'd been right. It had never been anything that would keep him from doing his job.  
  
"Just get this bastard, Reid." A silence hung between them, like Langly had wanted to say more, but kept the words behind his teeth.  
  
"We always get them, in the end. I just hope the end is soon." The guilt coiled tighter. "I have to go do that. I'll leave messages, when I can. I don't know if I'll be able to call -- I'm sharing the room, and ..."  
  
"Agent Mafia Fed Dad?"  
  
"JJ, actually. You'd think there would be more objections, but I don't think her husband believes I'm human, half the time."  
  
"You know, I feel a lot better knowing she's with you. She could kill me with her eyes closed. I have no doubt of that. So, I know you're coming back to me, because she'll murder the shit out of anything that tries to get to you." Langly laughed nervously.  
  
"You do know I can ta--"  
  
"Take care of yourself? Yeah, I know. But, I also know what taking care of yourself -- and me -- looks like, and I'm much happier with the idea of someone else doing it for you."  
  
Reid glanced down at his arms -- long sleeves to cover the still-healing wounds. "I'll be home. As soon as we're done, here. I have to go. _Please_ take care of yourself."  
  
They both knew he meant 'don't die'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shhh. This is not a regular update schedule, it's just posing as one. I'm up to my neck in things I actually get paid for, and there's no way I can maintain this.


	4. Chapter 4

Langly wondered how bad dying would really be, at this point. They'd only known each other a few weeks. How upset could Reid possibly be? Less upset than Byers was winding up toward, he was absolutely sure.  
  
"What do you mean I'm married? I'm not married! And I definitely didn't get married in Illinois! When was the last time we were even in Illinois!?"  
  
Frohike struggled to calm Byers down, to get him to sit down. "Byers. Look, someone's obviously fucking with you. It's probably just leftovers from when we were still alive. Possibly someone trying to gain access to us through you -- look around. Which one of us is actually likely to be married? You. Not that I didn't have my charms, once, but the kind of ladies they usually put in as fake wives tend to look a little young and a little square to be believable with me. You're it. You're the target demographic for a move like that."  
  
"But, it's not going to work! Obviously, I know I don't have a wife!" Byers argued, pacing nervously behind Langly's chair.  
  
"Did your bank? Did our landlord? The basics were all in your name, Byers." Frohike cut off the next circuit by shoving a chair into Byers's path. "It's not about who you knew, it's about how many people didn't actually know you."  
  
Langly kept his body between Byers and the screen. Someone was going to tell him who he was married to, but Langly didn't really want to be in the room for that, which left Frohike. On the other hand, Byers was going to shit enough bricks to build an outhouse if Langly didn't tell him. But, Langly would much prefer to figure out what the hell was going on before Byers got it into his head to go tilting at a windmill that might turn out to be a dragon instead of a giant.  
  
"Byers, listen to me." Langly turned around and stuck his legs out, tripping Byers back into the chair Frohike held. "This is bullshit. You know it's bullshit. We know it's bullshit. But, we have to approach it slowly, carefully, because you know what happens when we piss off a shitting bull? Nothing good. Take it from me. If this was a trap laid before we were dead, and we set it off now, we have much bigger problems than the mysterious fake marriage of a dead man."  
  
"When did it get entered?" Byers demanded. "You have to be able to get something from that!"  
  
"There's no trace to follow, after this long." Langly's patience was by will alone. He'd been over all this once before, and pretending he hadn't was grinding his nerves. "The record date's definitely before we died. In fact, I think we were being subjected to Tango Melvin's questionable talents right around there."  
  
"Hey!" Frohike picked up one of the empty cans that littered the desk and winged it at Langly, who batted it aside without looking.  
  
"And the entry date matches up with the record date, which is... a little unusual, but not head-turningly weird, if this were a real record. But, as it stands? The logs just do not go back that far. I can get maybe six months, if I'm lucky. We're talking more than fifteen years, and there's just no way." Langly shook his head. "But, I can very carefully pick at the breadcrumbs, here, and with any luck, I won't set anything off, and I'll be able to tell you something useful. I don't want you touching this, Byers. I can't even begin to explain how little I want your fingerprints on this. You're good. I'm better. Someone out there may be able to nail either of us, so we might as well open with the big guns."  
  
"Your kung fu is the best," Byers conceded.  
  
"You're god damn right it is." Langly folded his arms across his chest and nodded. "Let me solo this one. If I need more hands, I'll let you know, but you're like the last person I'd tap for this -- it's _you_. You're way too close to be safe working on it."  
  
"I can--"  
  
Frohike cut him off. "No, you can't."  
  
Langly pointed at Frohike and nodded firmly at Byers. "No, you really can't. I know you, Byers. I do not have the time to pull your head out of your ass every five minutes, as this comes together. This is going to be an ugly mess with your name all over it."  
  
Byers looked sick at the thought, and Langly sighed, holding out an arm.  
  
"If you're going to cry, let's get it out of the way before I start typing." Langly looked over at Frohike. "Do something about food? If I'm going to do this, I need to eat."  
  
"Sandwiches?" Frohike asked, turning Byers's chair and moving it out of his way, toward Langly.  
  
Langly offered both thumbs and then threw an arm around Byers, both of them facing away from the screen. "You've been through worse," he told Byers. "We'll do this, too."  
  
In the back of his head, he started tallying how many hours he'd slept that week, and when he needed to back out, before he was likely to do something dangerously stupid. Byers leaned into him, without turning, staring hollow-eyed across decades of memory and fear.

* * *

Reid looked tired, a copy of the Helgakviða Hjörvarðssonar open on the tablet he never used and held no small antipathy for, the original text on one side and the translation on the other. It wasn't the kind of thing one tripped over by accident, so they'd pulled the names of medievalists in the region, half of whom Reid knew, at least to nod to at conferences. That was a short list, given that it was a small field, and only three people seemed at all likely -- all of them with fairly firm alibis for hours around the times of the four local deaths. The students, though, were a much longer list, especially when one went back as far as they had to in order to account for the Alabama killings -- and to account for the fact that if they were looking for a student, that person had likely studied in Alabama, not Florida.  
  
But, that list filtered itself. How many people had studied Old Norse poetry within range to dump a body every nine days in that particular part of the forest and had then moved to Florida? Five. How many lived in Tallahassee? Just one.  
  
But, that was still circumstantial. Suggestive, but not definite -- the man in question, one Alex Grafton, likely had friends who'd studied other things with whom he'd discussed his own studies. Family members, perhaps, though he seemed to have left his family behind in Alabama. Garcia would dig up his history, and then they'd know what to ask.  
  
Reid reached for a paper cup of the sludge that passed for coffee in most police stations, only to discover it was empty. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, the edges of dreams skittering across the backs of his eyelids. Another cup of coffee, he thought. He hoped. There was a point, he'd noticed, where even coffee stopped working, and it had nothing to do with how long he'd been awake and everything to do with how little he wanted to deal with being awake. And maybe something to do with how much coffee he'd had over the preceding few days, but he'd actually been sleeping, the last week, so it probably wasn't that.  
  
More coffee, he thought, because his desire to close this case was at least as strong as his desire not to have to look at the photo of the last victim again. The photo that had been mounted on the board in front of him all day and night. The constant ringing in the back of his head was exhausting. The non-stop parade of 'what if...' made him sick and dizzy. What if _anything_ had been different? What if he'd been a moment slower, a moment faster, still awake? What if he hadn't walked into that building, all those years ago? What if it had been Langly?  
  
"Hey." JJ bumped her hip against Reid's shoulder, as he stared blankly into space. "I got you some more coffee, but you look like shit."  
  
"Thanks." Reid looked up, face unreadable, voice flat, as he accepted the cup. "No, really. Thanks."  
  
"You didn't sleep last night, and I know it."  
  
"I don't need it." Reid shook his head and regretted it, as the room took a moment to stop flicking back and forth after his head stopped moving.  
  
"Garcia's going to be a few hours. Why don't you just ... take a nap? You never sleep long, anyway."  
  
Reid loathed the look of concern in JJ's eyes, like she could see right through him. He was functional. He was awake. And he was pretty sure his call to Kylie had put the investigation on the right track. And she still watched him like he was broken. Damaged goods in need of a repair he wasn't sure could be implemented, which meant that look was never going to stop. Sleep wasn't going to help. Taking another killer out of the public sphere might. Good work. Something to ease the serpent of guilt still wound tight in his chest. It had started when he took those hours off, the day before, and it had swallowed a hundred memories, since, every one of them making it a little harder to feel his hands, to believe he belonged here.  
  
He poured the coffee into his mouth, swallowing until there was no more. "Cant sleep," he said, looking right at JJ and offering an innocent shrug.  
  
"You can't keep this up, Reid. You _will_ die." JJ's hip connected with his shoulder, again.  
  
"You and I both know that isn't true. I've set records, and I don't think I'll need to break them, this week." Reid's face became more certain with only the slightest motion around the eyes, a faint tightening at the corners of his mouth.  
  
"You know this is why Will thinks you're an android, right?"  
  
"It is absolutely not why Will thinks I'm an android. He thinks I'm an android because I'm an until-recently presumed heterosexual man, and I don't want to sleep with his beautiful wife." Reid looked at his hands to be sure they hadn't started shaking. He couldn't feel them any more.  
  
"You wanted to, once."  
  
"And then you corrected me. It's been said I learn quickly." Reid tried to sip his coffee, again, only to remember he now had two empty cups and no relief. And speaking of relief, how many cups of coffee? He stood up, suddenly, twisting sideways to avoid JJ, and dashed out of the room. "Excuse me."  
  
"Is he all right?" Lewis asked, watching Reid's back vanish down the hall.  
  
"I think the coffee just caught up." JJ pointed to the two empty cups on the table and then to the empties in the bin by the door, most of them Reid's.  
  
"And you're sure he's never had a heart attack?" Lewis looked bemused.  
  
"I don't think he'd tell us, if he did. Probably just keep working until he fell down. He does that. You weren't here the time he caught anthrax on a case." JJ shook her head and sighed, before gesturing back at the board. "So, what do you think, is he right? Three times nine?"  
  
"It does look encouraging. But, questions remain: Are we sure this is the second set, and not the third? If it is the third, what happens when the sword doesn't manifest? The closer we get to the end of the sequence, the more likely the failure to locate a sword is to trigger erratic behaviour. We're already seeing it, I expect. The most recent scene is the first one where we've seen that kind of destruction."  
  
"Are we sure it's a physical sword?" Prentiss joined them. "Rather than some metaphor for transcendence or something?"  
  
"I'd favour that interpretation more if the dojo's sword rack hadn't been smashed," Lewis said, after a moment's thought. "This is someone who's definitely looking for a real sword, a magical sword that will protect them and give them the strength to break the defences of their enemies. And we still don't know who those enemies are."  
  
"The obvious choice would be the valkyries, except that can't be right, if they're fighting the valkyries to get the sword. Something bothers or frightens this person more than what seem to be functionally immortal warriors of legend." JJ tipped her head, staring at the board. "This isn't someone who's pissed at their boss or their mother."  
  
"It might be," Prentiss said, watching Rossi and Alvez come up the hall carrying plastic bags full of takeout boxes. "If they believe these women are valkyries, do they believe someone else in their life is something more powerful than a valkyrie? A god, perhaps?"  
  
"Oh, please tell me this isn't more apocalyptic nonsense about the slaying of the world serpent." Lewis sighed. "There was enough of that a few years ago."  
  
JJ groaned. "I hope this isn't a religious thing. It's so hard to talk people down from prophecy and messages from the divine. I could happily go the rest of my career without another one of those."  
  
Prentiss patted her back on the way past to see what Rossi had dragged in. He never settled for the obvious choices. "At least we're pretty sure it's not a cult, this time!"  
  
JJ groaned louder.


	5. Chapter 5

There were things Langly was going to need to know, but not now -- things he didn't want to find out so he wouldn't have to tell Byers. He went down the easy paths, first, the ones he'd been down before, pulling up the essentials for the three names that might be relevant, all of them Hollys. And that made him wonder if the sudden fragmentation was covering a transition to a _completely_ different identity. After this many years, he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to trace that, unless she'd been the kind of stupid that meant she'd also probably been caught long before he started looking.  
  
Holly Fitzgerald, living just over the river: an address that should've resolved but didn't, a history of small purchases from local merchants, no car, no traffic tickets even in someone else's car, obviously no bills for the non-existent address, a post box, and no withdrawals or deposits at ATMs with cameras. In fact, it looked like all her transactions were plastic and bank transfers. Transfers suggested she worked for a temp service, and it slowly dawned on him that that was a brilliant way to put another crimp in the money trail. The temp service would be laundering money from the actual source, probably coming in under more than one name. And it was unlikely -- given that this was either a ghost or a dead woman -- that she was working at all, but just handling things behind the scenes.  
  
And that was a question: where the hell was the money coming from? Three identities, each one an actual woman, leading a relatively normal life, at a glance, and all of them probably funded from the same source, but Susanne hadn't disappeared with the kind of funding they did. And she definitely hadn't disappeared with the skills to make this happen the way he could do it.  
  
On the other hand, she _had_ disappeared from a hacker convention. Who did he still know? ... Almost no one. He was dead. Besides, she'd left alone, when Byers didn't go with her. But, that didn't mean she hadn't met someone later. Or come back for someone, later.  
  
Holly Fitzgerald-Byers, still apparently in Aurora, Illinois: nearly identical, except the location wasn't a pump station. This one could believably be someone's actual address, if a small one. Probably a converted garage, at a glance. Still, post box, instead of door delivery, which meant that even if the address was in use, it might not be hers. And rental records for private leases were invisible, unlike properties handled by management companies. Believable, but invisible. Still no utilities in her name, except a telephone. He copied the number, just in case.  
  
And Holly Byers, in... Tallahassee, Florida. Blond, deadly... but much older than any of the victims -- he could slip the name to Reid or the Black Queen, but that would open a can of worms he wasn't sure he wanted to deal with. On the other hand, Susanne's death wasn't something he wanted to deal with either. Or be responsible for. Byers would end him.  
  
He dragged over the laptop on the isolated line.  
  
_I swear I'm not working your case, but I just tripped over something. Probably not related, but I should mention it, just in case._  
  
_Gimmie gimmie. I'll take it._  
  
_You said Fitz was married. None of us have any memory of that happening, so I went looking. It's a trap -- I'm sure of that. But, we may know the woman in the pictures. A little deeper, and there's not just one of her, but one of them lives in Tallahassee. She's a little off profile, but I'd be an idiot not to be concerned._  
  
_How off profile?_  
  
_Sixtyish, blond, retired scientist. She worked with some very dangerous things, a long time ago, and there's been a lot of death around her. People keep trying to get her or her work._  
  
_Nothing with swords? Maybe something named sword? Or snake? Or serpent?_  
  
Langly got where this was going.  
  
_I don't think so, but who knows? We haven't talked in almost twenty years. I don't know what she's working on these days, or even most of what she was working on at the time. I don't want to say too much on this line. I don't trust it as much as I'd have to. But, get the name you know and check similar names in Tallahassee. One of them's going to float to the top. If it's our friend, I just want to make sure she doesn't get killed._  
  
_I can't make promises. You know that. But, if she's the woman I saw on that drivers licence, she's probably not in much danger. Yet. Probably. If this guy goes off the deep end, though..._  
  
_I know. Just let me know if she comes up._

* * *

Reid flipped through the information Garcia had passed on for probably the hundredth time, since they left the station. He didn't need to look again, but it kept JJ from trying to talk to him. Right up until that stopped working.  
  
"So, that was some dream you had last night. Did you even wake up?"  
  
"You know I have nightmares. It's the reason you're the only person who will share a room with me. Rules say that's not supposed to happen, budget says it's going to." Reid glanced up, just long enough to attempt a sympathetic look. "Did I wake you?"  
  
"You're lucky you didn't wake Lewis and Prentiss. How did you not wake yourself up?" JJ glanced at the GPS on the dash, trying to predict which way the voice was going to tell her to go at the next intersection. The street was a mess and the combination of traffic and construction meant the announcements were now a little later than she could use them.  
  
"It's a talent." Reid tried not to think about the dream he knew she had to be asking about. That was the thing -- it hadn't been a nightmare. He'd woken up uncomfortably stuck to himself, body still tingling, brushing the memory of Langly's hair off his face. He tried to change the subject, before JJ figured out he hadn't been having nightmares. Or maybe she already knew, in which case he hoped he could stop her from mentioning that fact. If he didn't know, he didn't have to think about it. "Are you sure this is a good idea? We're using you as bait. And for some reason _I'm_ here, instead of Alvez or Prentiss."  
  
"Spence, we both know you're perfectly capable. The rest of the team will be just down the street, if anything goes wrong. We're going to be fine. We are both perfectly capable field agents, which we have demonstrated repeatedly."  
  
"I really don't like this. We're trying to upset this guy, so we won't have to wait for him to pick another victim, and I just... really don't have a good feeling about this. Which I've said. And I will probably say at least one more time before we get there." Reid huffed in irritation and shoved the pages he held back into the bag between his feet.  
  
"You worry too much, Reid."  
  
"I worry too much? Maybe you don't worry enough!" Reid snapped and realised how utterly stupid that accusation was before he even got his mouth closed. He shook his head. "This one just bothers me."  
  
"If anyone's getting stabbed, Spence, it's me."  
  
"That just makes me feel worse." Reid shook his head. "I know we don't know enough. I know that's why we have to go ask questions."  
  
"And I'm bait, and you know what questions to ask, so we're the only people who can do this," JJ reminded him. "And we do know some things. We know Grafton's from Alabama and he almost finished a masters in Medieval Literature, and now he's living here. He's close enough to all the scenes, and he has to know the poem. His thesis was going to be on the role of valkyries in the cultural framing of death. Resurrected valkyrie has to be on his radar."  
  
Reid nodded slowly, falling into the flow of information. Think about what you know and let it tell you what you don't. His eyes closed. "We know he dropped out in the last stages of his studies, after someone -- presumably someone he knew -- died in a bar fight. He shows up as a witness, and is described as being extremely upset. At that point, he just vanishes -- stops showing up, stops taking calls from his advisor."  
  
"And that's right about the time the murders start in Alabama." JJ hit the horn as a car shot out in front of her, turning into the construction traffic from a nearly invisible sidestreet. "Which means they're probably connected to that bar fight. What do we know about that?"  
  
"Nobody got stabbed, and there were no women involved in the fight, although several witnesses were female. No mention of snakes or snake-related names. The death was a graduate student, but one studying Spanish literature." Reid's eyes opened and he blinked, annoyed. "I wish we'd gotten through to someone else, someone who'd known Grafton in Alabama. There had to be more to that relationship than two students at the same university, if that's the trigger. The mythos here is too involved for it just to be the sudden confrontation with his own mortality."  
  
"I don't know." JJ shook her head. "Watching someone die will really--" She stopped in the middle of the sentence. "Sorry. Of course, you know that."  
  
"We all know that." Reid looked out the window, lips tight, pretending he hadn't noticed what JJ was apologising for. "You don't do this work as long as we have without knowing the effects of death. And Grafton's a student of the mythology of death and the afterlife. What is he trying to accomplish, here? What did this specific death change?"  
  
"The sword is supposed to grant the power to strike down enemies and break their shields, right? Assuming Grafton's our killer, does he want revenge against whoever killed his friend?" JJ suggested, trying to get into a turn lane.  
  
"But, if that's the case, why does he need the sword, if he believes he's capable of slaying valkyries? Why doesn't he just go after the other people involved in the bar fight? They're just regular people." Reid fumbled for the seat release and tried to kick the seat back further. If he was going to be stuck in traffic, he'd rather it not be with his knees mashed against the glovebox. "Has he made gods of them? That doesn't sound right."  
  
"Who else would he be--" JJ slammed on the brakes, slowing from a crawl to completely immobile as a car leapt out of another nearly invisible sidestreet, blocked from view with orange barrels and temporary roadsigns, this one clipping the car ahead of them and slamming into one in the next lane, starting an accident that ended with the concrete truck parked where the median used to be pouring across the road as the driver struggled with controls that no longer worked. "Are you kidding me."  
  
"This is just... not our day. Maybe it's better if we just make some more calls, today. Talk to the victims' families some more." Reid sat very still, eyes wide, one hand over his mouth as he tried very hard not to laugh. It wasn't even actually funny, but that didn't mean it wasn't the punchline to his day, thus far. And now he was stuck in the car with JJ. Who had witnessed the effects of a dream that hadn't woken him. And was eventually going to bring that up again. He looked out the window and then back over his shoulder, wondering how far the walk back to the station would be, from here. Or maybe just back to the rest of the team, who were stuck somewhere behind them.  
  
JJ turned up the air conditioning, anticipating a very long wait.  
  
Reid's stomach made the sort of noises that follow subsisting on nothing but coffee and granola bars for a day and a half, and he immediately used it to springboard an escape plan. "I think there's a gas station on the corner up there by the light. I'm just gonna... do you want anything?"


	6. Chapter 6

"And you're _where_ , exactly?" Langly asked, reaching for the laptop next to his bed, to check the GPS on Reid's other phone. He was still half asleep, but the ring of an actual call instead of the blink of the message light had woken him right up, and he'd poked himself in the eye with his glasses three times trying to put them on without taking the phone away from his ear.  
  
"You may know better than I do, right now. I know I'm about three blocks down from where the car is slowly becoming one with the road. There was an accident involving a cement truck. We're fine, but the street's going to be closed for days while they try to clean this up. It's pretty bad. And traffic was bad before this..." Reid sighed and there was the squeak of a straw and the sound of swallowing. "I offered to go get us something to eat. We're going to be there for a while."  
  
"You should take the time to work on your tan," Langly teased, phone pinned awkwardly between his ear and his shoulder as his fingers flew across the keyboard, trying to pinpoint Reid's location and find information about the accident.  
  
"No, I really shouldn't, but if traffic doesn't improve, I'm probably coming out of this with a sunburn, regardless." Reid paused to check for traffic at the corner, but no one was willing to attempt the street he was on, in the condition it was in. "But, I just thought I'd call and let you know I'm still here. And... I had a dream about you."  
  
"Yeah? A good dream?" Langly's eyes let go of the screen and focused on dead air about a foot in front of his face.  
  
"I might take issue with the time and place, but I can't say I had any complaints about the content. You're breathtaking, even in my dreams."  
  
"Only in your dreams," Langly scoffed. "You found your glasses. I'll prove it to you."  
  
"I'm actually nearsighted, so I have a very good idea of what you look like. You spend a lot of time very close to my face." Reid cleared his throat. "Did that sound like a complaint? That's not a complaint. I found my glasses, so now I can appreciate you from across the room. Which I was doing anyway, since there's a lot more to you than just a handsome face. The face definitely helps, though, even if my first measure of your _physical_ appeal was your hands. I was appreciating some other things about you before that, and I've definitely appreciated more of them since."  
  
"You have sunstroke, don't you." Langly nodded, knowingly, even though there was no one to see it. "Drink water and get out of that heat before it kills you."  
  
"I do not have sunstroke!"  
  
Langly laughed. "You probably do. It's Florida. My list of things to do in Florida is pretty much get sunstroke, try not to fall in the ocean, and dodge the giant flying cockroaches. Can't stand the place. Three of ten. Would not go again..."  
  
"I have seen surprisingly little of the Florida state bird, given where we're staying," Reid said, entirely avoiding the part where he'd been taken by surprise by one fluttering at head height, the night before. He didn't think JJ was going to let him live that one down, any time soon.  
  
"And where _are_ you staying, hmm?" Langly purred, a sound laden with bad ideas that hadn't yet taken shape.  
  
"If I tell you that, you're going to send me something, and then I'm going to be in trouble, so no. We're not doing this." Reid watched workmen with shovels still scrambling to clear as much wet concrete as possible, before it could set. "I should get off the phone, before JJ spots me."  
  
Langly didn't say anything for a few seconds, then, "I've been debating whether to mention this, but since you're in Tallahassee..."  
  
Reid stopped walking, vision shrinking to a spot of sidewalk a bit in front of him. "What are you not telling me?"  
  
"Holly. One of them's in Florida. In Tallahassee."  
  
It took Reid a moment to catch up, but he remembered Langly complaining about trying to find Byers's missing girlfriend. "Holly Byers?"  
  
"I don't know if she's real, but I do know where she's supposed to be, if she is." Langly paused without breath, and made a decision. "I want you to stay away from the place."  
  
"That is the exact opposite of what I was expecting you to ask me to do."  
  
"If she's real, you're FBI, and she's not going to like that. If she's not real, then you just walked into a trap, and I'm not there to get you out." Langly stopped typing, the clicking sounds stopping, suddenly. "I'm still giving you her info, though. She's blonde and a badass, and I don't want to tell my best friend I got his girlfriend killed because I didn't say something."  
  
"Tell me. And then I have to hang up, before JJ decides I've gotten stuck in the river of concrete."

* * *

Langly knew what he was hoping for, even as he refused to think about it. He was hoping Reid would outsmart him -- find a way to verify the supposed Mrs Byers without getting shot, abducted, or drugged in the process. 'Don't', he'd said, knowing the only way to absolutely prevent it was not to say anything at all. He was intensely aware this made him an asshole, and the sensible part of his mind hoped that Reid would take him at his word and stay the hell away.  
  
Which he would. Obviously. He was busy on a case, and wasn't going to have more than ten minutes to himself at a time. Reid was safe with the compellingly terrifying Agent Jareau. There was nothing to worry about.  
  
... As far as Reid was concerned, anyway. Byers, on the other hand, was a fucking disaster.  
  
"Listen to me, Byers. She couldn't have done it, herself, and you know it, because you and Langly did the original work for her. That means someone else did it," Frohike explained, slowly and quietly. "And we have no way of knowing if she paid someone to do it, or if this was meant to draw her out. Or you. Both of you are dead, remember?"  
  
"Whatever the hell happened, someone out there has our gear," Langly pointed out, gesturing to one of the monitors behind him. "Your name was on everything, so when we showed up dead, someone used that marriage license to become your widow and claim everything the cleanup team didn't destroy. We were paid months in advance, so it's not like anything was going anywhere without help."  
  
"Okay, but who would have known to use her name, except her? Who would have known her name, at all?" Byers threw an angry hand at the screens. "That's the point, Langly. No one knew. We made sure of it."  
  
"She disappeared, _Byers_." Langly huffed and shoved his feet out, ankles crossed. "You don't know what happened to her after she got into that cab. We did good work, but we were surrounded by feds. Nobody had to know what we did, they just had to grab her. It happened once. You watched it happen once. This time, they just had to not do it in front of us, and who would ever know the difference? It's not like she was going to stay in contact!"  
  
Byers's eyes welled up and Langly hated himself for being the one to point that out, but someone had to say it. It wasn't just possible, it was likely.  
  
"Well, if they had her, then what was the point of this? We weren't exactly hiding, _then_!" Byers argued, trying to pretend he wasn't a quarter inch from tears.  
  
"You're assuming it happened then," Frohike pointed out. "We know the certificate date, not the actual date the record was added. We may have been, dare I say, 'dead' by the time this happened."  
  
"Anything that was worth getting from us would have been easy! There were feds all over us, then!" Byers knew what was wrong with the argument, even as he made it, but he waited for someone else to point it out.  
  
Langly filled in the blank. "Yeah, feds who _weren't_ trying to get us killed."  
  
Frohike raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
"Technically. Not actually killed. Fake killed is different."  
  
"We knew more than we thought we did about some things, I think," Frohike said, looking up at the three identities spread across all of Langly's screens. "Probably less about some others, but you can't be right about everything."  
  
Langly cleared his throat. "Elvis."  
  
"That one had potential! And so did the other one! And the other other one. And then there were the three we went in knowing better, but there were people who believed, and what are we about, if not the truth?"  
  
"I don't know if we're really in a position to say things like that any more." Byers looked tired and sad. "We're dead. We're living a lie."  
  
"Listen to me, Byers." Langly sat up and turned to face him. "We're doing exactly what we've always done. We just have different names, now. We can't go outside much, because there are people trying to kill us. The truth we're hiding isn't _hurting_ anyone. Nobody's getting killed over it, except maybe us. And at this point? Nobody cares, except the handful of people who may still be alive and would like to make sure we stay dead. We're still champions of the truth. We're just a little less effective than we used to be, because we can't go traipsing off to Buttfuck, Minnesota at the drop of a clue."  
  
"I think we're hurting Susanne!" Byers protested, as he had so many times over the years. "She thinks I'm dead! She wanted to marry me!"  
  
"She did marry you," Frohike pointed out. "She just didn't bother to tell you."  
  
"Assuming it's her," Langly reminded them. "I don't like this. We caught this much too late to figure it out, without putting someone in danger. Maybe several someones. Maybe us, too."  
  
"There has to be something we can do! She has to be somewhere!" Byers tried to stand up, but Frohike shoved him back down into the chair, both hands on his shoulders. "Cameras! There have to be cameras somewhere near the addresses, right? If we just... watch them, she'll show up eventually, right?"  
  
Frohike groaned and Langly cocked a thumb at him, leaning forward to put himself entirely in Byers's field of view. "Do you really want to sift through weeks of footage from multiple cameras, none of which will have a view of any of the residences? We're talking gas stations and local stores. All the addresses are in residential neighbourhoods. There's half a mile between any of them and the nearest corner store."  
  
"Home security systems." Byers's smile was grim. "Garage cameras. Front door cameras."  
  
"Not necessarily accessible through the internet," Langly shot back.  
  
"Usually networked, so you can check on your house with your phone. And you know nobody changes the default password."  
  
Langly blinked a few times. "... I hate that you're probably right. My faith in humanity just keeps plummeting to new lows."  
  
"But, we still don't know who's got cameras in any of those neighbourhoods," Frohike reminded them. "What's the local income look like? If it's not upper middle or better, you're probably not actually getting anything."  
  
"Income's bothering me," Langly admitted, meaning something totally else, but what Frohike said reminded him. "There are three of her. They're all generating a baseline level of transactions. Where the hell is the money actually coming from?" He explained what he'd discovered about the temp agencies and the ghosts' potentially fake employment.  
  
"Another place to check cameras," Byers insisted. "If any of that is real, she'd have to go into the local office eventually, for some kind of paperwork."  
  
"Fine, fine. I'll check that too. No, you know what I'll do? I'll pull it for you. _You_ can check it." Langly rolled his eyes, certain this was all a waste of time.


	7. Chapter 7

"Mr Grafton, I want to thank you for seeing us on such short notice. I'm Agent Jareau, and this is my associate, Dr Reid." JJ smiled gratefully, her jacket folded over her arm, powerful shoulders topped only by cap sleeves. "When we came across this reference to Svava and Helgi, in our investigation, we were told you were the man to see. I understand your thesis was on the subject of Nordic death legends, but I haven't been able to get a copy of it."  
  
"It was never published," Grafton said, quietly, gesturing for his visitors to sit on the couch, as he pulled over a kitchen chair and sat at an angle to them, at the end of the coffee table. "How can I help you?"  
  
"We're curious about your thoughts on the deaths of valkyries." Reid turned a bit sideways, leaning forward to look past JJ. "What purposes did these deaths serve, in the greater mythos of the time?"  
  
"Besides Svava, very few valkyries are said to have died. And Svava's story is woven into a strange resurrection, in which she rises twice more, first as Sigrún, who also dies, and then Kára. The other one of note is Brynhildr, who kills herself after discovering she was tricked into marrying the wrong man." Grafton shook his head, straw-coloured hair falling into his face. "But, valkyries aren't supposed to die, so it's an uncommon theme. They're supposed to choose the warriors who will die."  
  
"They bring the dead to Valhalla, right?" JJ asked, keeping her eyes on Grafton.  
  
"More than that, they decide who in a battle will be slain -- which warriors are worthy to die well and be brought before Odin. The other half who are chosen to die nobly are said to belong to Freyja. But, the valkyries determine who lives and dies." Grafton gave JJ an appraising glance, but looked back at his hands, contemplatively. "Valkyries, obviously, _can_ die, but in all reported cases the deaths are some form of protest by the valkyrie in question."  
  
"If, and I ask this question knowing there is no evidence of such a killing in the Edda, a person who thought themselves in keeping with a Scandinavian cosmology were to choose to slay a valkyrie, what might motivate them? Purely speculatively -- what purpose might that serve?" Reid rested his elbows on his knees, keeping himself small, every inch the academic.  
  
"Vengeance, usually." Grafton answered without a pause, but still shrugged, looking curiously at Reid. "Maybe he thinks the valkyrie has wronged him, somehow, or has taken someone who should have been left living. There are definitely stories of valkyries making people unhappy. In one, a man is drugged and convinced to murder his best friend by a woman generally interpreted as a valkyrie. So, not all the tales put them in the best light."  
  
"Assuming, for a moment, that it were possible to kill a valkyrie, what methods might this vengeful warrior choose? What would make sense?" JJ asked, bringing Grafton's attention back to her.  
  
"In the Norse view, nearly anything can be slain, if approached properly. Even beings we'd think of as gods have been killed -- notably Baldr, Mímir, and Narvi. But, it's more common to defeat and imprison beings of great power than to kill them outright. Stone and iron are common choices for that."  
  
"But, if someone were to want to slay a valkyrie, rather than imprison one..." JJ raised her eyebrows, widening her eyes to give Grafton a clear view of the blue.  
  
"I'd assume they'd need to send the valkyrie back to Odin, so it might be that using a weapon associated with Odin, in some way, would achieve this. A spear, maybe?" Grafton suggested, looking at his own walls, as if expecting something to appear.  
  
_Need_ , instead of want. Reid caught it, but said nothing.  
  
"I used to have a replica of Gungnir, but I forgot I sold it when I moved. I really just wanted to separate myself from that life, from my studies. It's been long enough, now, that I don't mind the questions, but at the time..." Grafton shook his head.  
  
"If you don't mind me asking, why did you end your studies? You were so close to finishing." JJ smiled in polite confusion.  
  
"I lost a very good friend, and I just... couldn't be so close to all the places we used to go. I thought taking a semester off would help, but I ended up just having to leave altogether. Florida's been a nice change of pace." Eyes on the floor, Grafton smiled weakly. "Was there anything else you needed?"  
  
"Just one more question, Mr Grafton," Reid took the opportunity for a subtle jab at the man's academic status, watching for any response to it. "What would you say about the serpent-blades in later Germanic lore? I've noticed some writers attribute the powers ascribed to them to Odin, in his serpent form."  
  
"There are so many other serpents in Nordic and later Germanic myth, but ascribing the powers to Odin -- who is only a serpent once, and while engaged in trickery and theft -- rather than to any other snake or dragon creature, some righteousness can be imparted to the story. We are intended, overall, to _like_ Odin."  
  
"So, would a serpent-blade be an appropriate weapon to strike down a valkyrie?" JJ asked, suddenly.  
  
"That's an interesting thought, Agent." Grafton's face lightened with mild surprise. "But, if I were going to take a sword, rather than a spear, I'd want the blade of Siegfried -- not Gram, but the one he is said to have reforged from a piece of a shattered blade Odin once wielded. Or, since Siegfried's sword is only one piece of that blade, perhaps another of the same source. Now, that would have a link to Odin."  
  
Grafton smiled warmly at JJ, as if waiting for some particular response.  
  
"Well, I think that's all we needed!" JJ smiled back and held out her hand, as she rose. "Dr Reid? Anything else?"  
  
"Not that I can think of." Reid shook his head. "Thank you for your time, Mr Grafton."  
  
Grafton's focus remained on JJ, as he shook her hand and then led them to the door. "It's been an interesting journey down memory lane, talking about all this again. Maybe one day, I'll go back to it. Not yet, but one day. A pleasure to meet you Agent Jareau. Please call me if you have any more questions."  
  
"I will."  
  
Reid didn't speak until they were in the car. "Your _associate_?"  
  
"I had to make you seem harmless! Oh, no, I didn't come here with backup! I came here with a nerd in a sweater vest!" JJ laughed and patted Reid's shoulder. "It's a nice sweater vest. Is that a new one?"  
  
"I got it while I was away." Reid looked down at himself. "A nerd in a sweater vest? Did you actually just say that to me?"  
  
"He doesn't have to know you're a nerd with a gun!"  
  
Reid started one word after another, never quite getting an entire syllable out, wide-eyed and flabbergasted. After a few more tries, he folded his arms and looked out the window.  
  
"Come on, he's probably going to try to kill me, if we're right about him, and then you can show him exactly how harmless you're not."  
  
"I still think Prentiss is a much better choice for that," Reid argued, still looking out the window.  
  
"Yeah, but then you'd be stuck in a room with Lewis, all night."  
  
"I like Lewis just fine. I don't know what you're implying."  
  
"Psychologist? Screaming nightmares? You really want to do that to yourself?" JJ popped open the armrest and helped herself to some more of the giant bag of Twizzlers Reid had bought her the day before. "You really want to do that to her?"  
  
"I am not that loud."  
  
"That's it, the next time you do that, I'm taking out my phone and recording it. There's a reason we're in the middle room, all the time. It's so other hotel guests don't think somebody's being _murdered_."  
  
"See? The next time I do that. Which probably isn't going to be tonight. It's probably not even going to be this case. I've gotten a lot better!"  
  
"You _were_ getting better. Then you got _shot at_."  
  
"I don't think you have enough datapoints to pass that judgement." Reid huffed, watching the scenery go by.

* * *

"Hey, gorgeous." Langly sounded exhausted, the phone pressed to one ear and the other arm wrapped around Byers, who had finally cried himself to sleep against Langly's side.  
  
"Did I wake you?" Reid asked, and Langly could hear the apology pending in the next breath.  
  
"Nah, I'm just sitting on the couch, taking a break."  
  
"On the _couch_?" Reid picked up exactly what was wrong with that sentence.  
  
"Byers," Langly said, quietly. "It's been a little rough. Enough about me. How are you doing out there in flying cockroach country?"  
  
"I can't talk about the case, but apparently I've been demoted to 'lovely assistant' again." Reid laughed, but he still sounded a little annoyed by it.  
  
"I mean, you are pretty cute," Langly teased. "What happened, this time?"  
  
"I wish I could tell you, because it was actually almost funny, except for the part where JJ described me as a harmless nerd in a sweater vest."  
  
"I contest 'harmless'." Langly cleared his throat and glanced down to make sure Byers was still asleep. "Otherwise that's pretty accurate. You're going to give me a sweater vest fetish. You know that, right?"  
  
Reid sputtered a bit, finally settling on, "Somehow, that's not as reassuring as you might think."  
  
"Who else do I know who would be caught dead in one?" Langly asked, voice approaching a normal volume, and Byers made a small sound and shifted in his sleep, pulling his legs up onto the couch.  
  
"I'm pretty sure I know where you think you're going with this, but you should stop, because you've missed _so badly_."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really."  
  
"So, where's your terrifying partner, if you're on the phone with me?" It finally occurred to Langly that Reid wouldn't be making this call, if he weren't alone.  
  
"In the shower, I think. I'm out in the parking lot with not nearly enough coffee, pretending to be invisible, for reasons I can't discuss." Reid sounded like he'd like to discuss those reasons in fairly unpleasant terms.  
  
Langly finally realised what had to be happening. "I hope you've got somebody on the other side of the building."  
  
"Of course," Reid answered, without stopping to consider he wasn't talking about this. "We _have_ done this before."  
  
"You'd goddamn better not get stabbed." Langly did his best not to sound like his heart was trying to climb into his throat, and Byers finally woke up, blinking and looking confused.  
  
"I'm not going to-- That is the least of my concerns, honestly. Don't worry about _me_."  
  
"I'm pretty sure worrying about you is part of the job description. Boyfriend? Pretty sure I'm supposed to be worried when you're standing in a parking lot in one of my least favourite places waiting for a serial killer." Langly moved his arm as Byers sat up and cast a concerned look at him.  
  
There was a long pause. "Boyfriend, huh? Is that what this is, now?"  
  
Langly studied Byers, who continued to look at him as if expecting some explanation. "Yeah. Yeah, it is. I mean it, this time. I probably meant it last time, too, but I don't like to second-guess myself."  
  
"I'm going to have to think about that." Reid sounded amused, with an undercurrent of nervousness. "I have to go, because I really need to be able to hear what's going on, but ... I just wanted to hear your voice."  
  
"Nail this guy, Reid."  
  
"We will."  
  
Langly tossed the phone onto the coffee table and stared blankly at it.  
  
"You all right?" Byers asked.  
  
"I have no idea."


	8. Chapter 8

"What is this, the great American mope festival?" Frohike came into the kitchen to find Byers and Langly sitting amid piles of printouts, under the map in the kitchen, both of them looking grim.  
  
"We're looking at the information we have for Holly, Holly, and Holly," Byers volunteered, holding up his tablet. "Trying to get some better visuals of where they've been, whether some decisions look better on paper than they do at street level."  
  
"Well, that explains you, but what about him?" Frohike pointed at Langly, as he pulled the tub of instant eggs out of the pantry.  
  
Langly offered his middle finger, in response, two pens held in his teeth and another in his hand.  
  
"Dr Reid hasn't called, this morning," Byers explained, voice softening a notch. "We're a little concerned."  
  
"You pull his GPS?" Frohike asked, spooning his dehydrated omelette blend of vegetables and spices into a bowl.  
  
Langly yanked the pens out of his mouth and glared across the kitchen. "He's fine. He's been ... the range is a little broad, but he's been between the hotel and the police station, I think, since last night. Or his phone has, anyway. No hospitals, no trips to the morgue. He's fine."  
  
"Then you're what, making bitchfaces for fun?"  
  
"Unpleasant things are afoot," Byers offered, giving Langly the opportunity to fill in that blank, before he did.  
  
"Well, it _is_ Florida," Frohike teased, heating a pan. "Mosquitoes the size of my arm, alligators, treacherous tides, and that's before you get to the serial killer we're all not mentioning."  
  
"It's not about the serial killer!" Langly snapped, making a mark on one of the pages in front of him.  
  
"He implied a serious relationship. Dr Reid ended the conversation." Byers raised his eyebrows pointedly at Frohike, then looked sympathetically at Langly. "To be fair, you know he shouldn't have been on the phone at all, right then. It wasn't really the time for--"  
  
"Byers? Do I say this shit to you about Susanne?" Langly glared, connecting another two points.  
  
"Yes."  
  
For a long few moments, Langly just blinked at Byers. "Yeah, all right."  
  
"I do more of it," Frohike admitted. "So, he hung up on you because he was busy."  
  
"Yeah, probably." Another line appeared on the pages in front of Langly. "Middle of a stakeout."  
  
"You know he probably took his own comm off to call you, right?" Frohike pointed out.  
  
Langly's eyes rounded. "Oh shit."  
  
"Tada. He had to go, because someone was going to come looking for him, if he didn't check in."  
  
"Nobody actually thought I was going to be good at this, right? I mean, we all know I'm not the people person here?" Langly shoved his glasses up with one hand and rubbed his eyes.  
  
"When's the last time you ate?" Frohike asked. "Both of you. Either of you."  
  
"Probably about twelve hours ago," Byers decided, after a few moments' thought.  
  
"I don't fucking know. You ate without me. I was busy." Langly rested his elbow on the table, hand still stretched across his eyes.  
  
"Good thing I made enough eggs."

* * *

When the phone rang, Langly reached for it so fast, he slapped it off the desk instead of grabbing it. It took him two more rings to figure out where it had landed and actually answer it, and he'd never been more glad he'd decided to go for the screw closure on the battery cover.  
  
"Hey. Busy day?"  
  
"Not busy enough. Nothing happened last night, except the part where I spent four hours getting rained on," Reid complained, the muffling effect of being on speakerphone shaving some of the irritation out of his voice. "Tell me something good."  
  
"Frohike continues to make the best huevos rancheros this side of the Rio Grande. I dropped my phone on the floor and it didn't explode, because I made it that well. Which means yours is also probably good as long as you don't dunk it in a puddle."  
  
"It's Florida," Reid interrupted, knowing full well he had never dropped any phone he'd had in a puddle, and had no intention of starting now, regardless of how many more puddles there seemed to be.  
  
"You have a point." Langly pushed up his glasses and lifted one shoulder to stop leaning on his hair. "So, where in alligator hell are you, today?"  
  
"I finally convinced Lewis that I _am_ licensed to drive and Rossi that I can be trusted to pick a restaurant, so I'm getting dinner for the team. I'd have called, but I haven't been alone for five minutes that wasn't in a bathroom since last night."  
  
"You haven't slept, have you?"  
  
"That would be the other reason I'm driving. No one else has had more than two hours, and I'm better at it."  
  
"A proud distinction, and one we share."  
  
"Sorry about last night, I--"  
  
"Took your earpiece out to call me." Langly finished the sentence.  
  
"Which was completely stupid. So, I made a point of calling from a more reasonable location, today." Reid sounded a bit distracted, probably by driving in a city he wasn't familiar with.  
  
"You've called me every day you've been there," Langly pointed out. "I was kind of expecting you to be out of touch, once you left town."  
  
"Sorry, I just--"  
  
"I'm not. I know, it's this case, but I like knowing you're alive. Especially with all the other shit we've got going in the background, here." Langly tucked his feet back under his chair, legs pressed tight together to stop him from bouncing his heel.  
  
"You'd know anyway," Reid scoffed.  
  
"No, I'd know where your other phone stopped moving." Langly knew the limits of the technology and his resources.  
  
"Garcia would tell you, if anything happened to me." Reid paused a little longer than might have been necessary to make a left across a major intersection. "Right after she notified my mother."  
  
Langly forgot to breathe, for a bit, the room spinning dizzily around him. "You have me listed--"  
  
"Absolutely not." Reid's voice was firm. "But, I asked her to let you know, if anything happened. Anything that might keep me from calling you for more than a day or two. I have an unfortunate habit of getting separated from my phone during ambulance transport, so it's more likely to be something like I fell down a flight of wet stairs and broke my ankle during a pursuit than anything _serious_ , but..."  
  
"How the hell do they let you in the field, again?"  
  
"Because I usually have the sense not to be involved in pursuits on wet stairs," Reid joked. "You probably know exactly how I ended up in the field and in much more detail than I do. There are things that were none of my business, when they happened, and a lot of those are still in place, even though I'm passing more of the physical tests than I was, at the time."  
  
"I am eternally grateful for your endurance."  
  
"And you're welcome to test it again, once I get home."

* * *

A few more pieces clicked into place, over dinner. They'd been fairly sure Grafton was the killer, but they'd been unable to determine the motive, beyond the pursuit of this particular sword. But, that had no meaning, without a reason. It was a goal, but not a motive. Garcia had been digging to find more details, more old friends, more living witnesses from the bar fight that had claimed Grafton's friend.  
  
It was in a photo from the university's newspaper that they finally found what they'd been missing. Someone inside the bar had sent in a photograph of two EMTs working on a man sprawled on the floor, and it adorned the next morning's article about the fight and the accompanying death. Both EMTs were blonde women, back-lit by the lights above the DJ booth, one crouched like a gargoyle over the body on the floor, probably having attempted resuscitation. With the haloes around them from the lights, the two women did look the part of valkyries choosing the slain.  
  
"That's what set him off." Alvez tapped the photo with one finger and then grabbed another slice of fried plantain.  
  
"And now we have a trigger and a goal, but still no motive. The symbolism is clear, but the reasoning is still opaque." Lewis leaned forward to get a closer look at the photo around the takeout boxes that littered the table. "Is he trying to resurrect his friend? Why would that need a sword? Is this some sort of long road to ritual suicide?"  
  
"How did we miss this, earlier?" JJ asked, stunned that they were just now getting the photo, days into the investigation.  
  
"The archives from further back than the last year are only available to students and faculty," Prentiss explained, slipping another tamale onto the edge of Reid's plate while his eyes were on the photo. "Garcia thought it would be easier and faster to just request anything they had with Grafton's name, than to try to get access to the entire archive to search it, herself. She's been busy with other aspects of the investigation."  
  
Reid returned the tamale to Prentiss's plate. "Thank you, I actually have eaten."  
  
"Well, we have it now." Rossi returned the conversation to the photo. "And we may have a few more days before he strikes again, which is good, considering we still have no physical evidence linking Grafton to the crimes. In fact, given how messy the scenes were, we don't have much physical evidence at all."  
  
"The rains have gotten to the bodies before we did, every time," Reid pointed out. "And all of them have been outside, which may mean we're approaching this problem improperly. He's not going to make an attempt on JJ in the hotel. He might try if she goes out, in the middle of the night. All the killings have been between last call and daybreak, and they've all been in places that would be at least medium traffic during the day -- alleys and parking lots near local businesses. Not places that do a lot of tourist business."  
  
"So, you're saying if I go out for a pack of smokes at four in the morning, we might have a better chance." JJ pointed at Reid with a plastic spoon.  
  
"I'm saying that might work, but if you do it every day between now and the target date, there's a higher chance. The victims have all been assaulted at places they habitually visit, after dark." Reid looked around the table. "But, Rossi's right. Everything we have is circumstantial, at best, and considering the amount of blood that should have been at any of those scenes, to judge from the bruises on the victims' hands and arms, that's a little troubling."  
  
"It's not exactly ten days," Rossi pointed out. "It averages out to about ten days, but the intervals are anywhere from five to twelve days. And all the victims, here, have been found the day after massive thunderstorms -- not particularly difficult, given where we are."  
  
"Relying on the storms to destroy the evidence. It's risky, but it's working." Reid held his coffee in both hands, staring into it. "New question: If the storms are destroying the evidence, why is the sword and serpent mark surviving?"  
  
"It's added later," Lewis proposed. "Which means our killer is spending a lot more time at the scene than we thought."  
  
"We knew that," Rossi argued. "He's spending the time searching for the sword."  
  
"So, what, our unsub kills the women, searches their houses or dojos for this magic sword, and then comes back and marks the sword next to the body? Why?" Alvez shrugged and looked around the table.  
  
"Why would he not mark them with a spear, if he's 'sending them back to Odin'?" JJ made finger quotes.  
  
"Something about the shield-breaker and shieldmaidens?" Reid threw out with half a shrug, snatching a foil-wrapped sandwich as Rossi reached for it. "Sorry! Hungrier than I thought, I guess."  
  
"But, not for a hot tamale," JJ teased, raising her eyebrows at Prentiss, who covered her mouth against a laugh.  
  
Alvez blew Pepsi out his nose, choking and coughing as he grabbed a handful of napkins.  
  
Rossi eyed Lewis plaintively, across the table. "Why am I still awake?"  
  
"I'm not actually sure," Reid answered, ignoring the fact that nobody asked him. "Especially considering we're all going to be up at four in the morning."  
  
"We have to use the locals for this," Prentiss argued. "It's probably pretty obvious if we're coming and going from the hotel. And if we don't go back, it's going to look like exactly the kind of trap it is."


	9. Chapter 9

The first night, no rain was predicted, and only a light drizzle came down. Reid was oddly appreciative not only of that fact but of the fact that he got to sleep, however poorly. He'd gotten oddly accustomed to actually sleeping, in the preceding week, and more than that, to sleeping next to Langly. The hotel bed was smaller than Langly's, but still larger than a sofa, and Reid's body insisted something was therefore missing in it -- warm, sharply angled, and smelling faintly of expensive shampoo and strongly of caffeine sweat. He tried curling up around a pillow, but there just wasn't enough of it, and he kept waking up to a stomach-churning sense of confusion and disappointment every half hour or so.  
  
He finally got up and hit it with a cup of coffee, while JJ was making her run to the all-night convenience store. And that made everything worse. He couldn't put on any of the lights, in case the room was being observed, in case someone was waiting for JJ's return. He didn't dare to get too close to the window, either, lest he blot out some source of light he hadn't considered and alert the watcher he was there and awake. it wasn't usually a problem -- most of the time, if he woke up in the middle of the night, he'd grab his book light and read. it was never bright enough to wake JJ. Except he couldn't turn on the book light, and he was stuck in a dark room. Alone. Only for about half an hour, sure, but he was pretty sure he was going to lose his mind, before JJ came back.  
  
Finally, he laid back down, closing his eyes and going over the case in his head until he heard the car pull up outside. If he and Rossi were right, the unsub would wait until JJ had either opened or at least unlocked the door. But, she came in and locked it behind herself, silently watching him until that was done. Nothing had happened, but he hadn't expected it to.  
  
The next night, he asked JJ to leave the bedside light on, when she left, and he promised to stay out of the beam. He called Langly from the floor, on the far side of the bed, still listening to the room with one ear.  
  
"I only have a few minutes," Reid said, as soon as he heard the line connect.  
  
"Talk to me," Langly said, expecting that whatever Reid had to say trumped his own rambling attempts not to say anything about Byers and Susanne, even on a line with end-to-end encryption. The fact that he'd mentioned her at all, the other day, still bothered him, to some degree.  
  
"We're still waiting. Can't talk about it, but I'm sure if you wanted to know, you have ways of figuring things out. Just don't ever tell me you've done it. I really can't know." Reid kept his voice barely above a whisper, both not to be heard outside and so he could hear better.  
  
"I'm impressed your answer isn't just 'don't'." Langly sounded a little surprised.  
  
"If I tell you not to, you're going to do it anyway, and then we're in a place where you're going to be lying to me. If I tell you not to tell me, then we're in a place where I don't ask, and you don't tell me, and we both know where we stand, honestly. But, if you get caught, you're on your own. I'm sorry, but I can't--"  
  
"I wouldn't ask you to. I'd never ask that of anyone, and you know, I actually like you, so..."  
  
And Reid found it strange how quickly the knot in his chest released at how easily they'd separated themselves from each other, that they'd drawn minor variants on the lines they'd drawn before, to protect themselves from each other, and how it always felt _good_. He expected an argument, even though he knew one wasn't coming, because he'd watched other members of the team go through it. But, Langly had a very similar, or at least compatible, understanding of where the lines belonged and why. And Reid felt no guilt at drawing the lines, no betrayal at having Langly draw lines around his own work -- there was the understanding that some things were never going to be appropriate dinner table subjects, for safety reasons.  
  
"Well, I'd hope you like me, by now!" he teased. "I'd hate to think I only rate ambivalence from someone who changed the way I sleep!"  
  
"Naked and sweaty in a gigantic bed is a good look on you."  
  
Reid blinked at the empty room in surprise. "That's... not what I meant, but that counts, too!"  
  
There was a confused pause. "Why, what did you mean?"  
  
"Remember how we established I'm weirdly cuddly for someone who doesn't like being touched?" Reid cleared his throat, the loudest sound he'd made yet. "Apparently, that's a thing, now. I've got a fairly large bed, and I should be able to get at least three uninterrupted hours, but ... that's not what's happening. That worked for one night. Fortunately, I don't actually need to sleep, so it hasn't been too bad, but eventually it's going to start slowing me down, and I can't afford that."  
  
"Reid? I'm going to say the most horrible word you've ever heard out of my mouth." Langly paused for effect. "Decaf."  
  
"That is _not_ the problem I'm having, _thank you_ for your concern." Reid's voice was cold enough to drop the temperature in Saskatchewan.  
  
"That is the bitchiest way anyone has ever used the words 'thank you' without being Byers. Congrats." Langly sounded far more impressed than offended, having gotten enough of it from Byers over the years to know he'd just set himself up for it.  
  
"You started it!" Reid barely remembered to keep his voice down, but he did manage to swallow the laugh that hung at the top of his throat. "You're the one who brought decaf into a perfectly civilised conversation!"  
  
"You're the one complaining about not sleeping!"  
  
Reid turned his head and pulled the phone away from his ear, waiting until he was sure Langly was done yelling. It was only the one sentence. "... with you."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Complaining about not sleeping _with you_. A large bed without you in it just ...feels wrong, now. I'm going to have to work on that. I can't be like this, in the field. It's incredible what just one week will do to subjective normal, though." A breath followed that might have been a nervous laugh, had he given it voice. "You'd think I'd be used to that, by now, but..."  
  
"That is ... very sweet and intensely terrifying," Langly decided.  
  
"I know. It really is." Reid paused, contemplatively. "Mostly terrifying."  
  
"This mean I'm going to have to get used to sleeping alone, again, even after you're back?"  
  
"I don't know." The words sounded hollow. "Not the night I get back. Not unless you want to."  
  
"You, me, some Indian food, and a long night in the chair I will never be sorry I bought you? Sounds good to me. Aliens and space lasers couldn't keep me away."  
  
"I'll let you know when I'm coming home. I have to go."  
  
Without Langly's voice in his ear, the silence was deafening, as Reid hid the phone in his bag. He sat in that silence, trying to refocus himself, until the sound of rain caught his attention. No thunder, but a sound like the sky had split open, bent on refilling the sea. He moved, then, checking his gun before he crawled across the floor, below the line of the light and the bottom of the window, coming up, at last, in the corner by the other bed, past the edge of the window, nearly invisible from outside. Less safe than where he'd been, but far more useful.  
  
The rain nearly drowned out the sound of JJ pulling into the lot, and he wasn't sure until he heard the car door slam. Looking down the slats of the blinds, he watched her approach the door, saw the instant Grafton hit her, heard the impact of her head against the door.  
  
Prentiss would be there in seconds, he knew, but he lunged for the door, diving past it as he whipped it open, and he caught the end of Grafton's sentence, before the man realised what was happening.  
  
"-- wanted to see how much I knew about the sword, so you could stop me from finding it."  
  
The last word became a shriek as JJ leaned forward into the space the door had occupied, dropping into a crouch, as she heaved Grafton over her shoulder, rolling him toward the hand that held the knife.  
  
Reid levelled his gun at the man lying stunned on the floor. "You're under arrest for assaulting a federal officer."  
  
JJ shifted again, knee pinning Grafton's forearm to the floor, as she tried to apply enough pressure to make him drop the knife. Blood streamed freely from the slice across her jaw, where she'd taken the knife when she threw him, and it splashed when Grafton rolled, apparently in agony, but slammed his fist into her face.  
  
Seeing the man's hand close around the knife again, Reid shot Grafton in the knee, and the fight ended as quickly as it began, Prentiss and Rossi appearing in the doorway just as the unearthly screaming started. Reid held onto his gun, until Grafton was handcuffed and an ambulance called, and then he offered it to Rossi.  
  
"One shot fired. JJ had blood in her eye, after he hit her, and Grafton had the knife again. I'm sure I could have kicked him, but this just seemed less dangerous."  
  
"There are easier ways to get a day off," Rossi pointed out, holding out an open evidence bag.  
  
"I'd rather be out for non-fatally shooting the man assaulting my teammate than on bereavement leave." Reid removed the magazine from his gun and dropped both parts into the bag. "It was the best decision, under the circumstances."  
  
"It's a choice you're picking more often." Prentiss crouched down to examine the knife, where it still lay on the floor.  
  
"Have you looked at my latest results? I'm actually hitting the target fairly regularly." Reid still didn't move from where he'd stood since he'd fired the shot. "You know what I'm still having trouble with? Hand to hand. In the interest of everyone involved walking away alive, yeah, I shot a man."  
  
"I don't know about walking, but he's definitely alive." Rossi shook his head.  
  
"Did he say anything else?" Reid asked, wondering if he'd start feeling his knees again, any time soon.  
  
"He said he needed the sword to fight death," JJ said, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, bandages covering one side of her face from the cheekbone to the neck.  
  
"Are you okay?" Reid's hands curled slowly closed, just to keep his fingers pressed against his palms.  
  
"I'm going to need stitches," JJ admitted. "And maybe stock in Tylenol. Do you need me for anything, or--?"  
  
"I'll walk you out. We'll meet you at the hospital." Prentiss got up, giving Reid a wary look before she followed JJ out.  
  
"You did the right thing, kid." Rossi patted Reid's shoulder.  
  
"I really just need some air," Reid decided, looking down at himself.  
  
"Change your clothes," Rossi suggested. "You want to go lie down in a less bloody room?"  
  
"I was thinking I'd try for a box of donuts, if we're meeting JJ at the hospital." Reid gave a lopsided smile without quite looking at Rossi. "I'm pretty sure half a dozen Boston cream will go over a little better than a cup of hospital jello."  
  
Rossi laughed and clapped Reid on the back. "You're sure you're all right? You're not going to go drive into the swamp or anything?"  
  
"Not intentionally, but it _is_ still dark out there, and I'm starting to think this city is cursed."  
  
"You want me to come with you?"  
  
"No, no. I'll be fine." Reid finally managed to get his legs to move, an important feat, if he was going to change his pants for a pair less spattered with blood. Grabbing his bag from behind the bed, he ducked into the bathroom.


	10. Chapter 10

Langly had the door locked, the lights off, and the music on, just like he did every time he wanted to be left alone. This was one of those rare times when he wasn't _just_ trying not to be distracted, though he was trying very hard not to be distracted, as he writhed against the bed, trying to bring back the feel of Reid's hands on him. He _wanted_ , and it terrified him just how powerful that desire could be. This wasn't just another case of jerk off, take a piss, and go back to what he was doing, like he'd _been_ doing for most of his life. He'd always been chasing the end, so the sensation would stop distracting him, while he was trying to do other things. And, if pressed, he might admit this was the same, but there was so much more, now, than there had ever been. The memory of lips and fingers against his skin in places he'd never wanted anyone to touch, the taste of someone else's air as the world blotted out around him, the way he'd become so quick to beg to be touched, just like he swore he'd never do. But, before, there'd always been a price and one he was rarely sure would be worth the pleasure. Now the price had changed, and he was willing to entertain it, even if he might still regret paying it, one day. For now, it was worth it. For now, even having memories of the way Reid held him and touched him was worth it. This wasn't something he'd ever imagined for himself. This wasn't even something he knew what to do with, now that he had it. But, he knew what to do with that ache against his palm and the white-hot lust coursing through him, tracing strange circuits on the inside of his skin.  
  
His breath caught, the world went white, and the phone rang.  
  
He grabbed for it before his breath had settled, each hand slick with a different fluid, and the phone leapt from his grip and clocked him in the forehead, before he managed to get a proper hold on it. But soon enough, he answered, still panting.  
  
"Got some good news for me?"  
  
"I'm coming home. Probably in the morning. Well, later morning. Maybe afternoon, if the paperwork gets ugly." There was a pause. "Are you all right? Did I interrupt something?"  
  
"You interrupted nothing you weren't already a part of." Langly hoped he'd successfully implied some excellent dream, rather than what he'd actually been up to. Somehow the thought of admitting to it still horrified him. "You get the guy?"  
  
"I shot him in the leg." Reid sounded so tired. "It's going to take three days for the paperwork to clear, but it was the best choice at the time. I don't really want to talk about it."  
  
"Only three days of recovery, this time?"  
  
"It didn't happen in my apartment." A long pause hung between them. "And it's not recovery, it's investigation into whether the shooting was justified."  
  
"Have they looked at you? What did they expect you to do, punch him?" Langly scoffed.  
  
"Strangle him with my trousers, maybe," Reid joked, with a laugh that bordered on hysterical exhaustion.  
  
"Come home. Come home and I'll make--" Langly stopped himself. He couldn't tell Reid if he was going to cause this problem to go away. "--sure you've got something else to think about. Call me when you land. I'll buy dinner on my way over."  
  
"Are you going to carry it through the sewer again?" Reid teased, so obviously trying to be all right.  
  
"No, I'm going to take a goddamn cab." Langly huffed. "Real person, remember?"  
  
"From...?" Reid trailed off, sure Langly couldn't mean door to door.  
  
"The address on my driver's license. Which I picked because I can get there via non-sewer passages in about fifteen minutes, meaning it gives me somewhere to consistently disappear and reappear, in that way that normal people do, but that isn't going to matter if it winds up compromised." Langly sounded terribly smug about having sorted all that out in advance. "So I order dinner before I leave the house, get the cabbie to wait while I run in and pick it up, and then I'm at your door."  
  
"You really thought this through, didn't you?"  
  
"I plan well under pressure." Langly finally asked the inevitable. "Where are you?"  
  
"In a hospital parking lot," Reid replied, taking a moment to realise that might not be the most reassuring phrase. "JJ needed stitches. I went to get donuts, because if there's something she's going to want after this, it's more sugar than you'll find in a jello cup."  
  
"You're a good friend." Langly wondered if that thing about being able to hear smiles was true, as the corners of his mouth tipped up. "Go take care of her. Tell her I hope she's okay, even if she does scare the shit out of me."  
  
A good friend. Reid felt the words twist like a knife in his chest. He couldn't be sure about that, right now, after what he'd done between the donuts and the hospital. "I've been keeping these conversations private, you know. I don't think letting on that I've been talking to you is a good idea, right now. After we get home, I'll wait a night and call her. It's my business what I do on my time, but this isn't my time."  
  
"Go deliver the donuts. I'll be waiting for you."

* * *

The first thing Reid noticed as he came up the stairs, keys in one hand, bag and mail in the other, was that Langly hadn't been kidding about the waiting part. There he was, leaning against the wall beside the door, a small cooler and a large backpack tucked behind his feet.  
  
"Miss me?"  
  
"How did you get here before me? I called you from the airfield and drove straight here." Reid's confusion spread across his face as he closed the distance between them, stepping past Langly to unlock the door. The desire to put his hands on Langly, to thank him for not being a dream, was a pain in his palms, and he fumbled the keys twice, before he got the door open.  
  
"Oh, you know how it is. I didn't actually wait for you to call. I picked up dinner and _then_ I waited for you to call. I had the shorter distance, from where I was waiting." Langly offered a wry smile and shrugged.  
  
Reid stepped in, first, dropping his bag almost silently, just clear of the door. For a moment, he stayed still, just listening. "Pretty sure you didn't go to all that trouble just to stand in the hall. I could be wrong, but current patterns suggest that's not your intent." He glanced back at Langly and stepped out of the way to let him in.  
  
"Are we clear?" Langly asked, as soon as the door was closed.  
  
"You're welcome to check."  
  
Reid set to work unpacking and repacking his bag, as Langly checked for bugs again. The clothes would be washed, but other clothes would take their place, in case he got called out before that could happen. Not that he would be. His gun -- wasn't on him. Right. No need to put that away until it was returned. Another box of granola bars went into the bag, and that was something he'd have to buy this week. The bag went back on the shelf where it belonged. The mail went on his desk and he'd care in the morning.   
  
One breath and then another. Everything was in order. He knew where it would be when he needed it.  
  
He still felt a bit off as he crossed to the couch, where Langly was unpacking dinner. He knew he'd have to admit what he'd done, eventually. But, he thought that, too, could wait until morning. He was home. He could just be home, for one night, before the consequences of the day before intruded, and with that thought he dropped onto the couch.  
  
"Got you something," Langly said, reaching for his bag.  
  
"Yeah, _dinner_." Reid tried to look as innocent as possible with half a samosa in his mouth.  
  
Something in Langly's face changed, sentimentality taking form in his eyes, before it snapped back to a more usual look of exasperation. He rolled his eyes and tipped the bag toward Reid. "Wipe your hands and help me with this."  
  
The napkin hit the table and Reid reached into the bag and took hold of the soft green and gold fabric that nearly swelled out of it. Langly hauled back on the bag and more blanket than should have fit in that space spilled out across their laps.  
  
"It's staying here, because I will never be able to get it back in my bag." Langly looked like he might be ready to fight about it, if necessary.  
  
Reid stretched his arms out, holding up part of the blanket and trying to get a look at the pattern. The green nearly matched the wall and the faded gold leaves were a colour he liked in light, but had never considered in cloth. The fabric  was much too soft, like something out of a dream. "I have so many questions and all of them are stupid."  
  
"For sleeping on the floor," Langly reminded him.  
  
"No, I got that part. Where did you find this? How did you match it so well?" Reid squeezed the resilient fluffiness in both hands. "What is this made of?"  
  
"Still microfiber. High-density poly filling, so it'll be warm enough once it starts snowing, but it's still idiot-proof to clean. Welcome to the twenty-first century, where you can sleep on a fake cloud that matches your living room." Langly pulled half the blanket over himself. "And Frohike matched it off the crime scene photos. He's got a better eye for colour, but don't ever let him do layout."  
  
"Weren't you the one who--"  
  
"Goddammit, what shit is Byers talking now?"  
  
"Front page bikini girl?"  
  
"Desperate times! Desperate measures!"  
  
"Uh-huh." Reid offered a sceptical look and a slow nod. "You know, you're the first person to leave any of their things in my house, other than my mother. And I'm not sure that counts, because she ... sort of lives here. Sometimes."  
  
"And you're the first person besides me to ever sleep in my bed, so I guess we're even."  
  
"I thought Byers--"  
  
"Not _my_ bed." The words were quick from Langly's mouth. "Actually, not _a_ bed. Usually the couch."  
  
"Wait, wait... There's usually only two beds in a motel room," Reid realised, thinking back on all the stories of the Lone Gunmen travelling.  
  
"Frohike farts in his sleep, Byers has issues, and I learned to sleep in bathtubs, because you know where exactly nobody is going to accidentally step on you in the middle of the night? Somewhere they'd have to step up to do it. Getting stuck on the floor in a place that's small enough it only has a disgusting shower is a nightmare. Only one bed? Byers got it. We needed him to look like he could take care of himself."  
  
"That is... idiotic."  
  
Langly's lips tightened and he jabbed a finger at Reid. "One room. One bed. Are you sleeping next to Agent Jareau or are you sleeping on the floor?"  
  
Reid blinked a few times. The obvious answer was that it wasn't ever going to happen, because FBI, but that didn't actually answer the question. "... Probably on the floor," he finally admitted.  
  
"And there you go." Langly reached for a foil bowl and a plastic fork. "You should eat before this gets cold."  
  
"It's not bad cold." Reid eyed Langly contemplatively. "I had breakfast..."  
  
Langly froze, mouth open, everything but the paneer sliding sideways off his fork, back into the thick orange curry in the bowl. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"  
  
"I should really probably have a shower before I make those sort of suggestions, but..."  
  
"Too late. Shower later. You're going to wind up sweaty anyway." Langly dropped the fork into the bowl, where it sank instantly to the bottom of the curry. A flash of irritation crossed Langly's face, but only for a split second, as he shoved the bowl back onto the coffee table.  
  
"This is a really nice blanket, are you sure--"  
  
"And then it'll be a really nice blanket that smells like it belongs here."  
  
"Mmm, I might take a little more convincing." Reid reached for another samosa.  
  
"It was _your_ idea," Langly deadpanned.  
  
Reid held up a finger while he swallowed. "That doesn't mean it was a good one!"  
  
"Did you _want_ me to argue this? Because I'm the one who said we should eat, before dinner gets cold." Langly picked up his bowl again.  
  
"What can I say? You were right! Dinner first." A mischievous smile crept across Reid's face. "And then I want to find out what this blanket feels like on my entire body."  
  
Langly choked on his tikka masala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, _one_ more chapter. Then... _then_? The next part.


	11. Chapter 11

Reid had insisted on at least clearing the table before submitting to the pleasures of Langly's hands and that probably excellent blanket against his skin. The fact that he should probably at least consider a fold-out couch crossed his mind, not for the first or even the fifth time, but fold-out couches were almost inevitably full-size and wouldn't fit. And then there was the question of where to put the coffee table if the couch was open. Would it even fold out into that space? He didn't think so, and the thought was dismissed, yet again.  
  
By the time he stopped nervously tidying things -- and he knew exactly what that was about -- Langly was down to just his t-shirt and sprawled across the old blanket, on the floor, cuddling the new one.  
  
"This thing is fantastic. Come down here and roll around on it."  
  
"I really think I should shower before I--" Reid started, but Langly reached out and wrapped both arms around his ankle.  
  
"You can shower after you finish getting sweaty. There's no point in showering twice in like an hour, and you know it."  
  
"There's kind of a point," Reid argued, but started unbuttoning his shirt, anyway. Either way, it was coming off. "I'd really like to stop smelling like this case."  
  
"I can fix that," Langly pointed out. "Come down here and I'll make you smell like me."  
  
Reid paused, head cocked. "Do you have any idea how much sweat that would actually take?"  
  
"We could find out. For science."  
  
Reid's eyes squeezed shut as he started to laugh. "I want you to know that's one of, if not _the_ , most disgusting proposition that's ever been made to me by someone who wasn't a serial killer."  
  
Langly huffed and rolled onto his back, letting go of Reid's leg and staring up at the ceiling. "You're no fun."  
  
"Did I say I wasn't going to do it?" Reid dropped his shirt on Langly's face. "No, I said it was _disgusting_. We do a lot of things that are objectively disgusting, most of which I try very hard not to think too much about while we're doing them, because I'd like to _enjoy_ them."  
  
Langly whipped the shirt off his face only to find that Reid had sunk to kneeling beside him. "You're being really goddamn weird tonight. I mean, weirder than usual. Should I expect this? Do you just get like this when you leave town?"  
  
"I have no idea." Reid shrugged, trying not to let on that he knew exactly how strange he _felt_ , how even things that were perfectly normal things for him to do or say were suddenly stiff and awkward. "I don't usually have anyone waiting for me." He twisted around to pull his socks off, tossing them toward where Langly had thrown his shirt. "Let's go with 'yes', until proven otherwise."  
  
Langly's shoulders relaxed. "Okay. You're weird when you get off the plane. Don't take it personally. That's cool. I just had to make sure it wasn't ... me."  
  
Leaning forward, Reid put a hand to either side of Langly's shoulders, looking him in the eyes. "I have wanted to come home to you since I left."  
  
They weren't quite the words he'd intended, but they got the point across well enough, to judge by the way Langly blinked and then dragged him down into a reckless, sloppy kiss. 'Home' definitely wasn't the word he'd meant. 'Back', but not 'home'. Except this was his home, and Langly was in it, so it worked just as well. But, he knew damned well the implications were different, and it left him wondering if he'd meant what he said, and if Langly had the social context to pick up the difference.  
  
But, none of that mattered right then, in the middle of this passionate, slightly-used-curry flavoured kiss.  
  
Reid pulled back just a bit, lip caught in Langly's teeth. "I missed you."  
  
"Yeah?" Langly nipped just a little harder and then let go. "Prove it."  
  
"I don't think that's actually possible, but I'd be happy to demonstrate a few things I dreamt, and I hope JJ never figures out that wasn't a nightmare." Reid cleared his throat.  
  
Confusion settled across Langly's face, followed almost immediately by realisation. "Loud, huh?"  
  
"I don't know. I didn't hear a thing. I was asleep for it." Reid managed his best innocent look, though he was much too close for Langly to properly appreciate it.  
  
"Going to show me how I got you that loud?" Langly asked, hands tracing the lines of Reid's back.  
  
"I'll certainly tell you. I think showing you might require violating some base precepts of biology and physics."  
  
"Would it hurt?" Langly squinted up at Reid, debating how far he was wiling to go in pursuit of a good time.  
  
"I think that depends on how many consecutive orgasms you're prepared to have." Shifting his weight to one hand, Reid traced the other down the centre of Langly's still-clothed chest.  
  
"As many as you can give me," Langly breathed, gazing up in stunned amazement. "Wait, no. _Me_? I thought this was about _you_ getting loud."  
  
"I never said I wasn't having just as many. Well, okay, not quite as many. Even in my dreams, you're still faster." Burying his face against Langly's neck, Reid took a deep breath. This was real. Langly was real. Still, just as he had been every time Reid had checked. And he told himself that of course Langly was real, half the team had met him, but something in the back of his mind kept insisting this was too good, that things like this didn't happen to him.  
  
"I could probably make it happen, but it would be at least forty percent illegal, which I probably shouldn't even try with you." Langly's hands worked Reid's trousers open, as he tipped his head back, making room for Reid's kisses against his neck, struggling to come up with a less terrible plan.  
  
"I feel like half of that idea was probably Viagra, and the answer is no, you shouldn't." Reid nipped under Langly's chin.  
  
"Yeah, I know. I'm working on it." Both of Langly's hands slid down Reid's back, into his pants, cupping and kneading that ass he so adored. Even after the week they'd spent mostly in bed, it was these little things that still gave Langly pause, from time to time. The kisses, the touches that weren't straight to the point, the idea of taking the time to be naked -- or as close to it as he was willing to get, most days -- to tease and tempt and not rush to the end.  
  
"I really hope you think of something and it doesn't end in someone having to call for an ambulance." Reid smothered a laugh against Langly's neck as he tried to shove his trousers off without getting up. And he did smell less like the case, he realised, as he got rid of the clothes he'd been wearing.  
  
"Come on, I've lived _this_ long. Even my worst plans don't usually end in _medical_ emergencies. One of the worst decisions I ever made only got me abducted at gunpoint and forced to commit major financial crimes for a foreign government. I didn't even get shot!" Langly cleared his throat as Reid started to laugh. "Okay, I did get shot _at_. Might've fallen off a roof. But, it wasn't serious. I didn't _break_ anything."  
  
Reid's laughter turned a touch hysterical, and for a moment, he wasn't sure he could stop. Finally he choked it back. "You know, I watch the rest of my team struggle with their relationships, because if you date outside a team like ours, nobody gets it -- the dropping everything to fly across the country at a moment's notice, the getting shot at on a regular basis, the moments where you're genuinely sure you're going to die but they're funny later. There are other professions where you get some overlap, but there's not a lot of people who can handle all of it. And you... I really have no doubt that you're one of the few. All three of you -- you're ... the kind of people I can fairly casually talk to about things that would trigger dramatic overreactions from most people. You got shot at and fell off a roof and it _wasn't serious_. You got mailed to Puerto Vallarta, by accident."  
  
Langly snorted. "Yeah, but that _was_ serious. I'm still mad. I will die mad about that."  
  
"As long as you don't die _soon_ , I think we're good." Reid's eyes softened as he gazed down at Langly, still trying to kick his pants off.  
  
"Pretty sure I'm working my way toward immortality. Would you still be into me, if I became a robot?"  
  
"I'm sure I'd learn to respect the machine." Reid looked more than a little uncomfortable with the idea, finally looking down to untangle his foot. "It would still be you."  
  
"I'd make absolutely sure I stayed fully functional and anatomically correct." Langly waited to see if the line would catch.  
  
"Garcia's going to kill you if she catches you fishing around in her music collection." Reid pulled up the new blanket, letting it drag across his back.  
  
" _Her_ music collection? Thank you, I have my very own copy of Banned on Vulcan. Hello, Trekkie household?" Langly managed to look as offended as was possible with a gorgeous, naked fed straddling his hips. "The U.S.S. Make Shit Up is practically our theme song."  
  
The amusement returned to Reid's face. "I could get behind that."  
  
"I'd rather you get behind me." Langly ran his hands up Reid's thighs.  
  
"Mmm, not yet." Reid's eyes gleamed mischievously. "Not unless you're only going for one."  
  
Langly had never looked at anyone like that, in his entire life. Maybe a few pieces of top of the line hardware, but never another person, and _definitely_ never a person who was naked and asking him how many times he wanted to come. "At least two. Three if you're good for it. Six if I don't have a heart attack in the middle."  
  
"We've never gotten further than two," Reid reminded him. "Two usually makes you _cry_."  
  
"And it probably will again," Langly agreed, nodding. He smiled wickedly. "Three if you can keep up."  
  
"I don't know if I'm going to be able to keep going, if you start crying. That's... absolutely the opposite of a turn-on," Reid protested, laying his hands on Langly's, where they rested on his legs.  
  
"Easier if I tell you I still want it?" Langly asked, trying to find a balance.  
  
"I don't know," Reid admitted. "Let me apologise in advance, but I'm probably going to have to stop, if you start crying."  
  
"So, give me ten minutes and we'll start over." Langly smiled smugly, having found, if not a solution, at least a workaround. "You know, between the two of us, we have enough baggage for an international airport."  
  
Reid started laughing again. "I don't even want to think about airports, for the rest of the day, but you're probably right."  
  
As Reid leaned down again, pushing Langly's hair out of the way of his elbows, he tried to muffle the ends of that laugh with Langly's lips, and Langly wondered how badly playing back that last message would go. He wondered if he should just delete it, let the whole thing pass out of memory, but he knew Reid would ask, eventually, and he wasn't sure what he'd say, especially without proof. He stretched up for the lube, knocking Reid's arm onto his hair, and decided he'd just live with it. Reid would be sitting up, soon enough, and he felt that thought go straight to his dick, like a bolt of lightning. Whatever happened later, right now, there was a naked man, beautiful, intelligent, and grinding against his already-dripping dick. He wouldn't last long at all. He wasn't even sure in was an option, tonight.  
  
A low moan passed from Reid's mouth to Langly's, as Reid felt the gentle touch of slick fingers tracing down the inner curve of his hip and back between his thighs. He knew that opening -- Langly meant to tease him until he ached, and he hoped he could handle it, this time. Muffled sounds of desperation spilled into the kiss, as he tried to lose himself in the sensation, pushing aside the last few days as if they meant nothing. They were meaningless, for now. For now, all that mattered was the warm body under him, the slightly-sour kiss he refused to give up even as he drew more and more recirculated breaths, the feel of Langly's fingers buried inside him. For now, all that mattered was that ache in his chest, in his palms, and now between his hips -- a hollowness he meant to try to fill with Langly.  
  
At the rustling plastic sound of Langly trying to separate one condom from the end of the strip single-handed, Reid finally broke the kiss, making a decision he'd been thinking about since the dream about the window.  
  
"Don't."  
  
"Change your mind about who goes first?" Langly managed a smile, still confused, because Reid would want one anyway.  
  
"No, I..." If he didn't say it, Langly would make the entirely wrong assumption, because it was the only sane assumption to make under the circumstances, and Reid knew it. He tried to force the words out of his mouth. "Don't... use one. I still will, but the percentages... I've seen your results, and I have no idea how Byers got that much blood out of you without you just... passing out. I'm already a mess. There's a shower in the next room..." He realised he was rambling, and feeling more light-headed with every word.  
  
Langly seemed caught between amusement and concern. "You sure about that? I'm not doing anything you're going to regret later."  
  
"If you have a reason for me to regret it, other than the part where I'm really incredibly going to need to lock myself in the bathroom for an hour after this, you should let me know."  
  
"That really was the only reason I had, but I promise you it's not going to be an hour." Langly smiled wickedly. "Want to find out if you're good for two, while we wait to see if I'm good for three?"  
  
Reid blinked. "Let's get somewhere near that decision before I try to make it. There are so many other decisions between here and there."  
  
"You get to stay on top for this one," Langly said, slowly easing his fingers out. "You change your mind, you fix it. Don't worry about me."  
  
"I'm not going to change my mind."  
  
Langly's jaw clenched so hard he nearly broke a tooth as Reid slowly slid down onto him. Nothing in the world felt like this, that subtle difference in texture, in the intensity, the warmth... His breath stuttered and his hips canted. "Pleasepleaseplease," he hissed between clenched teeth. " _Right now._ "  
  
Reid forced himself the rest of the way down, all at once, finally understanding what Langly had meant about feeling it in his throat. He felt his body start to panic, that first wracking clench of muscle lancing pleasure down his nerves, and he shivered as Langly gripped his thighs, open-mouthed and writhing beneath him. This was stupid and dangerous and reckless, but Reid had never felt so good, so completely in control. He rocked his hips, as Langly arched and panted, leaning forward to get the condom Langly had left half torn off the strip, and he rolled it onto himself as Langly throbbed inside him. He clenched like a matching pulse -- near perfect control, even as his thighs trembled -- poured lube into his hand, and leaned back to slide his fingers into Langly.  
  
And that was when Langly's entire reality detonated. He was inside Reid, Reid was inside him, and he could feel the orgasm he'd just had doubling back on itself in a way he wasn't sure was actually possible except for the part where it was happening to him, ringing through his teeth, lashing down his nerves, barbs of pleasure caught under his skin against erogenous zones he'd never realised he had. His hand leapt to his mouth, wrist jamming between his teeth as it occurred to him he might be screaming -- doubtless for more, but still more than the neighbours needed to hear. He couldn't tell how much time passed before he realised Reid was asking him something.  
  
"You all right?" Reid had stopped moving, entirely.  
  
Langly nodded like his head might fall off. He pried his other hand loose from Reid's thigh and offered a firm thumbs up, before tracing a finger along the underside of Reid's dick and raising an expectant eyebrow.  
  
"Are you sure this is a good idea?"  
  
Even without a sound, Langly's response could have melted steel, a piercing stare.  
  
Reid gently removed himself from Langly, all at once, prompting a stunned look and a tiny sound of muffled dismay from Langly. As Reid went to move himself back, to pull Langly's hips into his lap, he met with a foot in the centre of his chest.  
  
"New position," Langly explained, untangling his legs from Reid as he rolled over and lifted his hips. "Definitely going for three."  
  
"Think so, do you?" Reid asked, one hand on Langly's hip as he lined himself up with the other, gasping as Langly shoved back onto him.  
  
"At least."  
  
Reid tried to start slow, but Langly wasn't having it, and every gentle push forward was met by a hard thrust back, until they fell into a rhythm that felt like it started life in a pinball game. He was sure he'd end up with a bruise from the inordinate number of times his pelvic arch slammed against Langly's tailbone, but every breathy sound Langly couldn't quite silence was worth its price in pain, and every demand for more, harder, faster was well worth damage that hadn't yet been done. It wasn't that he was looking forward to the ache of the morning after, but few good things came without a price, and this one was easy to pay and well worth it.  
  
Body trembling on the verge of overload, Langly made a stupid decision -- a decision he was well aware was stupid while he was making it, and one made even stupider in execution. He tried to pull his shirt off, catching it on his shoulders, and leaning on his hair in a fit of expletives.  
  
Reid slowed down, trying very hard not to laugh. "Do you want a hand with that?"  
  
"Shut. Up." Langly finally managed to twist himself out of the shirt and pull his hair back over one shoulder, so it would be where he was expecting it. He stretched, long and slow, bowing his back and raising his hips. Glancing back over his clear shoulder, he caught Reid's eyes. "Touch me."  
  
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Reid asked, yet again.  
  
"No, but I want it. And it's pretty much impossible for me to smack you from here. You'll still know if I'm wrong it just won't bruise." Langly rocked back against Reid. "And stop staring and just fuck me!"  
  
"I'm pretty sure I can stare _while_ I fuck you," Reid teased, picking up the pace, again. He moved one hand from Langly's hip to slowly stroke his back, out of time with his thrusts. He could feel Langly go from a faint tremble to a jarring shiver, but with no complaint, and slowly the clench of concern in his chest loosened, and he let himself enjoy the view and the sensation. It amused him to no end that Langly's body fell so easily into this particular posture, and it still surprised him a lot more than it maybe should have that it turned him on so much to see it or even to feel it happen, to watch Langly offer himself like this, and then to so thoroughly and obviously enjoy being taken.  
  
He could feel the way Langly's muscles tightened as the next orgasm approached, wringing him almost painfully, until Reid saw stars, barely holding himself back from the edge, as Langly's hips tilted up even higher, shoved back hard, one more time. Tiny, broken sounds of desperate frustration ended each of Langly's breaths, until Reid dragged two fingers down Langly's back, settled them where they fit, and pressed down just as he slammed in, hard and deep.  
  
Langly howled, shivering and sobbing as the tension in him finally snapped, the constant drip giving way to a few weak spurts that felt much stronger. Reaching back, he scrabbled at Reid's hand, barely able to make sense of his own fingers, until he managed to pull that hand down where he wanted it, wrapping it around his limp but hardly disinterested dick. He could feel Reid's other hand gently caressing his hip, the slowing of the thrusts, as if Reid might be considering stopping, and he fought to find words. "More," he demanded, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that were apparently a symptom of the second round. "Don't you dare stop. Hard. Fast. Right fucking now."  
  
This time, Reid didn't ask, he just let himself obey Langly's demands -- demands his own body was making anyway. He'd never been wanted _like this,_ like Langly wanted him, this almost self-destructive desire not just for pleasure, but for him, specifically. And he'd realised that, about Langly -- that this was probably the first chance he'd had to really explore the limits, to push the limits. And Reid couldn't fault it -- he'd never really taken the time, himself. There had always been distance, time, or something else he was supposed to be doing in the way. But, now, there was nothing between them but a condom and an international airport's worth of baggage, and he meant to make the best of it. He felt like this was something that should have happened sooner, for both of them -- that it was the kind of thing that people usually did in college -- but at the same time, he was glad it hadn't, that this was something they could have, together. And he still wasn't sure how he felt about any of this and how much of what he thought he might be feeling was just a side effect of repeated mind-blowing orgasms, rather than anything of substance.  
  
Langly, on the other hand was all too clear about what he was feeling, and further expletive-laden demands poured out of his mouth, as he clenched his hands in the blanket under him, clinging to the last shreds of his sanity, as the waves of pleasure crashing against his nerves nearly drowned him. This was much too much. This was what he'd tried to avoid all his life. He couldn't tell where his body stopped, where the edges of his skin were, which was the line between scalding pleasure and burning agony. And all he wanted was more. It was terrifying, and he'd probably never do it again, but he was in it now, and he was so close. He couldn't figure out where Reid was touching him, but wherever it was, the sensation was incredible. He wanted to be kissed, he wanted to be held, and more than anything he wanted to be fucked. He wanted to be fucked until he transcended the limits of human existence, which he was pretty sure he was already well on the way to.  
  
"Fuck me," he pleaded, as if he weren't getting reamed in ways that made Kimmy seem about as appealing as a coin-op bed. "Oh, fuck, Reid, I want it. I want you. I want you inside me. I want you to come inside me. I want you to come all over my insides. I want to feel it. I want to feel you. I want you on me. I want your hands on my skin. I want you to touch me. I want you to fuck me. I want you."  
  
Reid swallowed hard, feeling his legs begin to tense. He thought his hands might be getting a little rougher than was wise, but Langly bent again in that perfect curve, ass high and chest pressed flat against the floor, and Reid knew this one was the last one, because he'd finally caught up and there was nothing let to hold on to, to hold himself back. The force of the orgasm hit him like a cricket bat, and he swore he could feel his teeth rattle, all his nerves jumping six inches forward and then snapping back into place. His thighs tightened like steel and the powerful thrusts were reduced to desperate grinding as he spilled into Langly.  
  
Langly had a few regrets as his body clamped down, twisting like it almost always did, and foremost among those regrets was the blinding pain that struck like a spike through his spine and a burning lance between his thighs. But, Reid's hand worked his flesh roughly, squeezing, pressing, grinding, and the pain and regret sank into the depths of the storm of pleasure that had never really stopped. Langly felt himself gasping for breath as if he were actually drowning in it, clenched achingly tight around Reid, whose pulse echoed through his entire body.  
  
And this time, the tears came on like a flood.  
  
"I'm fine," Langly insisted, though Reid hadn't yet asked. "Just... keep touching me. Don't let go."  
  
Reid had to move one hand, so he could straighten out his legs, nudging Langly until they lay spooned, one arm still under Langly's waist, loosely cupped between his thighs, the other wrapped around his chest, hand pressed to the centre of it. "You all right?"  
  
Langly nodded. "Kiss me?"  
  
"I can't reach." Reid sounded exhausted and amused.  
  
"I didn't say it had to be on the lips." Langly would have huffed, had he not been crying. Instead he wound up with a bubble of spit.  
  
Reid kissed his way along Langly's shoulder, the back of his neck, and Langly just cried harder, pressing himself back against Reid.  
  
And Reid couldn't help himself; he wanted to make Langly smile. "So, where's the line for 'serious relationship'? I'm your boyfriend, you're leaving stuff in my house, you're currently lying on my floor sobbing with what I hope is joy after mindblowing sex..."  
  
Langly did laugh, even if it ended in a phlegmy cough. "I don't know. I have no idea how this works. I have no idea what any of this is supposed to look like. We've had dinner a few times. We're definitely fucking. We did the meet the family thing. I was hoping you'd know."  
  
"Most of my relationships ... as if I can even say 'most'. Everyone but you has been long-distance." Reid wasn't going to give a number. Even next to Langly, that number was small. "I mean, I guess we're dating. You met me with dinner after a long week at work. That counts, right?"  
  
"Let's go with that. I have a boyfriend. We're dating. Those are things normal people say, right?" Langly started laughing again, and Reid followed him into a wheezing cackle.  
  
"How would I know? Do I look like normal people to you?"  
  
"You're the profiler!"  
  
Reid stopped in the middle of a laugh, lips pressed to the back of Langly's shoulder. "That's fair. Okay, what do normal people say about their relationships... If I were any of the people I've had to interview about their significant others, what would I say about you? ... That's my boyfriend. We've only been together for a couple of months, but he's wonderful. He's smart and funny and kind. We haven't been on what you'd call a real date, yet -- no dinner and a movie -- but we spend a lot of time together, at home, just... being together. It's nice. It's simple. I like it."  
  
Langly started to cry again. "Goddammit. I am not sad. This needs to stop. This is stupid and unnecessary."  
  
"Do I need to put a warning label on my penis?" Reid teased. "'Do not overuse. Too many orgasms may lead to emotional distress'?"  
  
The crying shifted to strangled laughter, as Langly tried not to choke on the tears and snot. "I'm getting you that on a t-shirt."  
  
"There are exactly zero places it would be appropriate for me to wear that."  
  
"Your house and my house. That's two. Wear it in front of Byers. I can't wait to see his face." Langly giggled hysterically.  
  
"I feel like wearing it in front of Byers might be rude. Frohike, on the other hand, might have it coming," Reid speculated, nibbling at the top of Langly's shoulder.  
  
"We're doing this. We're doing this and I am turning on every camera in the place so I can catch them both from every angle."  
  
"We're sleeping first. And probably showering before that, because I think I can still avoid regrets if I get a shower before my asscheeks stick together."  
  
"Mmm, just stay here a few more minutes. Then we can shower." Langly rested his hands on Reid's wrists, less holding them in place than suggesting they not move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Next time, get ready for revelations and consequences! (And now is the time when I take some time off to do the things I get paid for!)


End file.
